


Fracture

by Alice_Marie



Series: The Grim Dark [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Porn, Armitage Hux Has Issues, Blood and Gore, Child Abuse, Dark Magic, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dominant Armitage Hux, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Emperor Hux, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Smut, F/M, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Hux Backstory, Hux Has The Force, Hux is Not Nice, It's Hard and Nobody Understands, Kylo Ren Angst, Kylo Ren Backstory, M/M, Non-Consensual Violence, Not Happy, Other, Protective Kylo Ren, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Sex, Sexual Abuse, Sexual Violence, Slavery, Violence, pit fighting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-31
Updated: 2019-08-19
Packaged: 2019-10-19 17:58:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 63,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17606174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alice_Marie/pseuds/Alice_Marie
Summary: Brendol Hux is a warmonger, self made Emperor and ruler of all civilized lands- betrayer of Vader and Snoke. A Triumvirate broken.  Left unchecked, his ambition and violence spread.  Conquered kings and queens lay at his feet. Soon, none shall oppose him. Not the petty mobs of angry citizens and certainly not Queen Organa!--"Watch carefully this time." He gruffly demands.Armitage doesn't want to listen, his eyes still not meeting his father's."Understand?" Brendol asks more sharply, his fingers catch on his son's chin, forcing him to lift his face and finally meet his stormy eyes. "I want you to watch and listen."His father draws away. Armitage hugs his own arms, as if it will offer warmth. He slowly follows him through the rooms, the soldiers parting for them. They come to a larger hall...At first Armitage thinks that it is a mistake. He thought they had come to another royal family but they don't look royal. They look ragged and filthy!The man is scowling at Armitage's father. Armitage looks to the woman and then, underneath her hands. There's a boy. Armitage thinks he looks a little like the ravens that sometimes circle the palace grounds.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Greetings! 
> 
> Our minds have taken us to a mystical world where science fiction and fantasy merge. It's grim. Troubling. Definitely dark. There's a lot of pain, a lot of love, and a lot of everything in between! A rich but bleak world awaits you, should you continue down this path.
> 
> We will do our best to add additional tags to the beginning of each chapter to give you heads up of what may come. 
> 
> This is the 'past' portion of what we have written so far. A history. The series will contain three works representative of Past, Present, and Alternative Paths or Outtakes, if you prefer. 
> 
> Thank you for joining us! Please leave a comment if you're enjoying the journey (or simply cannot look away from this burning train wreck) the story, we don't bite! 
> 
> Lots of fandomly love from,
> 
> Alice & Marie

 

 

Prologue

 

Ben feels his mother's hands on his shoulders. Her grip trembles as she keeps him close to her. Much of the events leading to this moment fade from his memory - what came before the war, the struggle... the hunger... He barely remembers. Sometimes, he thinks he remembers the scent of roses but that may very well only have been a dream.

 

He shifts his weight from one lanky leg to the other, craning his head back - a halo of dark unruly waves. Where he looks every bit a rambunctious child, his mother looks resolute, her lips pressed into a grim line of determination. He rolls his head to the side, still tipped back to observe his father. He looks fierce.... Angry... He wants to ask what is happening but a single look from his mother has left him silent, chewing on his lower lip as the large keep's doors are finally broken in.

 

Soldiers, bearing no color at all on their armor pour into the room - rifles raised... His mother's grip tightens only just. Comforting... But urging him to be quiet. His dark eyes are wide and large as the invaders finally emerge. The sounds of their approach have been loud and make the ancient stones above them tremble and quake.

 

"You've some nerve showing your face here!" Han growls, moving down from the steps. Han - the Pauper Prince, as they called him... A commoner made royalty through marriage to Leia Organa... She frowns at him, lifting a hand to her husband’s arm to calm him... If they're lucky, diplomacy will make this... Less painful. She has hope for survival, even if it is under less than favorable terms. Even if it means they must endure this discomfort a little longer if it means they might band together more resistance to fight against this tyranny.

 

~

 

Armitage watches his father's soldiers rush, like ants on a hill, to the doors. It is all so quick. He can barely comprehend it. He trails behind his father’s massive form like a shadow. Lingering back when they finally breach the door. He doesn't want to enter. He doesn't yet fully understand, but he knows enough to feel a familiar sickness in his stomach. A need to shut his eyes and turn away. He feels cold. He had forgotten his coat. His tiny fists making small balls, he feels the giant hand on his shoulder, he lowers his eyes to the ground as an excuse to avoid his father's look as his father lowers himself to Armitage's level.

 

"Watch carefully this time." He gruffly demands.

 

Armitage doesn't want to listen, his eyes still not meeting his father's.

 

"Understand?" His father asks more sharply, his fingers catch on his son's chin, forcing him to lift his face and finally meet his stormy eyes. "I want you to watch and listen."

 

His father draws away. Armitage hugs his own arms, as if it will offer warmth. He slowly follows his father through the rooms, the soldiers parting for them. They come to a larger hall...

 

_You've some nerve showing your face here!_

 

Armitage finally lifts his eyes. There's a man. At first Armitage thinks that it is a mistake. He thought they had come to another royal family but they don't look royal. They look ragged and filthy!

The man is scowling at Armitage's father. Armitage looks to the woman and then, underneath her hands. There's a boy. Armitage thinks he looks a little like the ravens that sometimes circle the palace grounds. Has he ever seen hair so black as his? Armitage looks down, despite what his father said. His father has come forward to meet the man. Armitage can see their shadows move across the floor, but doesn't watch their faces.

 

"And you," his father's growling voice begins, "have got some nerve to speak to me in such a way when leading my men here was little more trouble than taking a walk in a park."

 

"Easy to do when you steal a generation of youth to be your cannon fodder!" Han growls.

 

"STOP!" Leia warns him, they're gaunt - Brendol's forces have cut their supply lines and inevitably, surrender has become the only option, having no food or replenishment for their people... She cannot let them starve...

 

"Please forgive my husband, he is... Hot-blooded.." She tries to downplay it but Han's face is a mask of rage, he crosses his arm, gritting his teeth but his nostrils flare - ready to fight...

 

Ben watches them, his pale face moving back and forth to watch them and then blinks back at the large red haired man, the boy at his side. They're so... Grand.

 

"We wish to come to peaceful terms. To spare the people further loss." She speaks clearly, elegantly. Ben feels... Proud of her.

 

Armitage realises the boy has looked at him. He hangs his face. Ashamed. The voices have got louder, they seem to mount in his ears. He knows what will usually follow. He wants nothing more than to turn his back and run back the way they had come. Instead he stands, frozen stiff. He hears the woman's... is it fear? He thinks it is, having heard the sounds of fear before, but it is followed by clarity. Something Armitage has rarely seen. It makes him still for a moment, but then his father makes a sound between a scoff and a laugh.

 

"Such a wish might be granted," the giant sneers, "if you had anything to offer me."

 

Armitage sees the form of his father lumbering... he stands before the boy with raven hair. Armitage is tensed all over. He doesn't want... the thought of his father touching the other boy... he squeezes his eyes shut, to mirror his fists.

 

Leia glances down at her son, maneuvering him to her side, just behind her.

 

"You have a fine son already, Hux. What good is a child to you? We have other things to offer..."

 

Ben fidgets. He doesn't understand the implications. Han does, however, his face is flushed with anger.

 

"Children are not bargaining chips!" He growls, stepping closer in spite of the way Leia warns him with her soft brown eyes.

 

Brendol doesn't move. Like a boulder. His heavy, black leather boots planted, still facing the other boy. Armitage watches the man who protests sorrowfully. He likes him because he is unlike other men in the presence of his father. He isn't silent, nor does he speak in the fear that Armitage would be able to recognise.

 

"You're not in a position to tell me what the terms or trade of this agreement, will be, Solo!"

  
Brendol’s voice is louder now. Angry, like spitting flames. Armitage lifts his own hands to his shoulders, hugging himself tighter. He knows what will come... his legs start to tremble.

  
"I think we are!" Han barks and Leia gives him a horrified look.

 

"In any case..." his father's voice continues, Armitage sees the bend of his elbow.

 

He... he is touching the boy. Touching his face. Armitage winces. He wants to speak out!

 

"Your son has a future." His father's voice continues, now regarding the man and woman. "While the both of you... do not."

 

Leia narrows her eyes - how very much she'd like to strike this abomination of a man. Han looks like he about to - she places her hands on his shoulder but there is a tension there. Han growls like a savage.

 

Ben mimics his parents, glaring defiantly, pulling his face back but doesn't step away.

 

A young officer runs in from the outer chambers, he is breathless. Startling ashen eyes and dark hair. Sharp features.

 

"Lieutenant Opan, Emperor Hux, sir!" He snaps to attention.

 

Leia watches him, there's an electricity in her gaze. Han looks smug.

 

"Urgent communications from our..." He hands the datapad over. The manufacturing district has been assaulted.

 

Armitage doesn't understand what's on the data pad, but he understands the look on his father's face instantly. His tiny shoulders hunch. He wants nothing more than to melt… to become nothing.

 

"As you can see," Brendol snorts, "I have other matters besides your pitiful little lands I must attend to."

 

He turns and steps away, but Armitage knows not to be relieved. The dreadful look in his father's eye remains.

 

"Father..." Armitage whispers, he can't help himself, he sees, he knows... "no..."

 

Brendol pays no attention. Perhaps he doesn't even hear.

 

"I'll make this quick." Brendol murmurs, in part, to himself. Then he raises his face to the soldiers.

 

"Separate them." He orders.

 

"You may not like our lands... But you'd be remiss to think we are not without means!" Leia states. "There will be more unless we strike an accord for peace. Here and now, Brendol!"

 

They are pulled apart, Han struggles the hardest but Leia keeps her dark eyes on Brendol. Much like her son's eyes.

 

"It doesn't have to be this way!"

 

Ben is pushed down to his knees, a small and pitiful form compared to his kneeling parents. He's all lanky long limbs. Already it's evident that he will become a tall man... If he is allowed to live that long.

 

Brendol pulls a blaster from inside his long, snowy robe. Armitage watches him handle it, his father's eyes don't seem to acknowledge the suffering of the family. Armitage isn't surprised. Brendol never sees... he never sees, but Armitage sees.

 

"On the contrary, princess." Brendol mocks, "the actions of your people have sealed your fate."

 

He paces in a circle, past the boy, past his mother... Armitage's eyes water. He rushes to his father, despite him knowing it's hopeless, he tugs on his father's robe.

 

"You can't kill freedom." She whispers, watching as he moves to her husband... She wants to scream, wishes she could do something.... anything... If only she had had the powers of her father....

 

"Please, no!" Armitage protests, his father fixes him with a single steely look before striking him down, in front of the soldiers, in front of this family...

 

Armitage curls up, weeping. He cradles his face, pulling his knees to his chest.

 

Ben stares, he sees the weapon in his hands. The boy has raced forward, trying to stop... Stop this disaster... He watches in terror as the boy is struck down by his own father. Ben gasps, tears springing to his eyes. Perhaps it is all beginning to set in for him. Innocence is the first casualty of war... He looks to Han who struggles to try to break free from his guards.

 

Brendol comes to the man. Looking him in the eyes. He lifts the blaster in the direction of his face.

 

"Insolent rat..." he growls. "But even I won't deny a prince his final words."

 

Han's chest heaves, he's enraged - he wants nothing more than to curse Brendol, his army... He looks to his wife, his son...

 

"I love you!"

 

Leia shakes her head, tears rolling down her cheeks...

 

"Han...."

 

"Sentimental." Armitage hears his father comment, though his eyes have squeezed shut, his hands hovering over his ears. He doesn't want to hear...

 

There's a single resounding shot in the room.

 

Armitage curls up tighter. If he doesn't believe he's here... he crawls away on his hands and knees. He doesn't want to be in his father's sights...

 

Leia doesn't look away... She can't... Their eyes are locked til the last moment. She lets out a small sob, hanging limp between the guards' grasp.

 

"FATHER, NO!!!!!" Ben is a tiny veritable force of nature, he screams, struggling to little avail... He can't fight, he's too small.... But.....

 

"BEN, DON'T!" Leia screams at his struggling form, his defiant dark eyes glaring up the guard who pays him no heed. Until the guard freezes, staring down at him.

 

Ben gasps, his mind falls into the guard - he hasn't been fully trained! Leia shakes her head.

 

"Ben, stop!"

 

He can't! His father's blood all over the floor, he can't breathe... It's... that voice... that thing in his head... It tells him....

 

Leia is trying to get free, to get to him.

 

Armitage's blood runs cold at the cries of the other boy. He feels that large hand take him by the collar, hoisting him up, half-strangling him until he is on his feet. There's chaos. The mother is screaming. Armitage doesn't want to open his eyes. Something his pressed into his hands by his father. It's... Hux finally opens them and sees the blaster. He shakes his head, his eyes shutting again.

 

Brendol has noticed something. The behaviour of the guard... he leans close to his son.

 

"Look!" He demands in his son's ear, pointing to the other boy. Armitage won't look... his father takes his ear harshly in his fingers, twisting... "Look!" He emphasises.

 

Finally, Armitage opens his eyes as he makes a soft sound of pain at Brendol's tugging. He follows his father's gestures to the other boy. The blaster is heavy in his small hands.

 

"It's up to you, now." Brendol roughly exclaims, his hands come to position the blaster correctly in Armitage's, but Armitage is shaking his head. "None of that now." Brendol scolds him, lifting his arms so he's now aiming at the other boy. "He's powerful, like you, it seems." Brendol whispers to him. "Will you spare him his life as my prisoner? Or will you let him join his father?"

 

Armitage continues to shake his head wordlessly, his arms shaking. Brendol holds him tight. Armitage understands... he must choose. Hell within this life? Or... or the alternative? He can't... he drops the blaster, falling away from his father. Brendol nudges him with the toe of his boot.

 

"I suspected as much." His father growls. "But nevertheless, you are right to spare him. I'm certain he will serve us well."

 

He comes away, finally letting Armitage breathe, he comes next to Leia, looking her up and down. Armitage doesn't like that, though he doesn't entirely know how it's different.

 

"Stop making that racket, princess, it's undignified for someone of your blood." Brendol criticises.

Leia tries to compose herself - she knows! She knows the danger... her son! Her little boy! She gasps, struggling to swallow down her desperate calls - he can't hear her. Only Ben can pull himself out of that other mind or he'll be lost to it.

 

She sees the exchange, the other child failing to pull the trigger and she exhales her relief. She tries to catch the boy’s eyes, to mouth the words 'thank you' before her view of him is blocked by Brendol's form. She looks up at him, a withering gaze and a defiant tilt to her chin.

 

"This is a mistake..." She warns, there is much more at stake here than he can possibly understand!

 

"Proud, defiant, arrogant..." Brendol insults, scans her up and down, lifting a hand to her hair. "I wonder how long you'll be able to hold on to that pride." He sneers, before pulling away. "Do what you want to, with her." Brendol calls to his soldiers. "Anything she owns is ours now."

 

~

 

Ben struggles - he doesn't know what to do! His mind screams for help - for that dark shadow to come to him to show him what to do but he is lost in a barrage of memories of routine. Military protocols, maintenance manuals, guard rotations!  His eyes are stuck open, staring at the guard who seems powerless to do anything but return that gaze - their minds are forming an infinite loop, one falling into the other...

 

Memories of running barefoot in the grass, shrieking with laughter as he chases his father who has impossibly long legs... His mother's sweet voice, reading to him of history and legend....

 

Drills, weapons, marching... Murder... Blood... Everywhere!

 

Armitage wanders closer to... to the other boy, to Ben. He can sense what he's doing, his mind is in floating pieces. Armitage closes his eyes, his hand reaching softly in the air as... he attempts to navigate. He's been trained, but only a little. He tries to send a single message.

 

"I'm sorry." He sends to the boy. "I'll try and help you..."

 

Leia struggles harder still - she won't... No matter what happens... She can't give up... She can't lose hope... Not for her son! Not for her people!

 

"Come on then, cowards!" She growls, managing to get to her feet in spite of the guards' grip on her arms.

 

These are the truest of monsters that cannot be allowed to reign... To spread their sickness across the lands... Not so soon after the age of tyranny of her father and his mysterious adversary has come to an end! Could their planet not know peace even for a short time?

 

The spark has been lit, however... Loyalists to a cause greater than a singular nation's sovereignty.... Spread through the land. They will catch, grow... She has to believe this as she is once more forced to her knees - she cannot see her son now.... Nor the collapsed form of her heart's blood.... Han...

 

~

 

Men... Women... Children... Screams - they're all dying! Ben tries to stop them but he is only a wisp of smoke caught in the wind. Just as the guard cannot seem to break free of hours sprawled on his belly, drawing... Or making... cookies! Of all things, beside his mother's long skirts, standing on a bench and cutting shapes of stars into pale colored dough.

 

_I'm sorry._

 

The guard cannot hear - he is not touched of the Force... Only Ben can hear a small voice over the battlesong of blaster file and the screams of the brutally dying...

 

_I'll try and help you..._

 

"W-h.o….wha-?" He spins in a pile of corpses, slipping in blood as he tries to move to where he thinks he heard the voice.

 

"I'm here!" He shouts, fear bleeding into his voice, he stumbles back - phaser cannons assault lush green fields turning them to ash and ruin. He narrowly avoids being caught in the fire of one, huddled in the dirt and rubble. Small hands held over his ears.

 

It's not enough. Armitage will have to travel inside the boy’s mind... he hears fire, canons and shots that shake the earth. His brow creases in concentration, trying to separate the threads between the two. He follows the desperate, raw terror that is erupting with every crash from somewhere in a muddied ditch. Armitage steps forward, half in reality, half within memories. Offering his hand. He thinks he sees him. Showers of mud fly up ahead. It's dangerous here. Armitage feels his own thoughts and memories beginning to slip from their confines. He tries to stay rooted, planting his feet in reality.

 

"My name's Armitage." He tells the boy. "I'm going to help you out of here..."

 

He feels his heart thudding, his hand still outstretched to him.

 

"It's okay..." he tries to comfort but he knows he's wrong. It's not okay. Nothing is okay...

 

Something shredded, merciless, and metal flies over his head. Machines of war are blowing apart - he doesn't know their make... model... what they are... but this soldier-turned-guard does... Serial numbers... Salutes...

 

Ben whimpers, curling into a tight ball as something explodes - the entire ground shakes... Or is it his mind? He can barely sense his own memories... He calls for his father- his mother.... Their faces... He sees only sightless eyes of the slain. Hears only the buzz of flies... Smells the stench of rot...

 

A small figure approaches - clad in white, crowned in a halo of flame. The... the other boy? He reaches for Ben. There's only a second he has before another howl of something falling from the sky splits the sound of chaos. He turns to look over his shoulder - ordnance of a hefty yield is falling to from the dark shapes in the sky like vultures flying overhead.

 

Doom. Dread... It comes for him, he turns back to the boy. An angel in this battlefield - gleaming and bright in comparison to the mire of ashen colorless hues that mark the memory of the guard.

 

Ben reaches, his fingers touching Armitage's. He stumbles to his feet.

 

_It's okay..._

 

Ben shakes his head - his mind is caught in the chaos, what is real and unreal has been lost to him.

 

All he knows is that bomb is going to land... He throws his arms around the other boy, knocking him to the ground, huddled close to form a shield over the other boy as the ground shakes, torn to pieces, shattered - the sky is a flash of scarlet that bleeds into violet and white - the field behind them is nothing but a flattened crater of trinitite glass shards…

 

Armitage's breath is knocked out of him. He stares at the other boy who's just made a shield over him, shrapnel and dust lifting... it's so real. The well-defined traumas of a grown man. Yet that is all it is- Armitage must remember, or they are both lost. Nothing can hurt them here, despite him being so sure he can feel the other boy's weight. That he breathes in the sulphur of the air. That his hand is dipping in blood... he swallows. He is getting lost. He clings instead to the boy. His shoulder. His jet-black hair seems to take to the winds as if he's suspended in water; the waters of these memories, the strangely beauteous sky that is both so endless and so suffocating. The engines sound from all around them. The fire... the debris... Armitage looks the boy in his dark eyes.

 

"It's Ben?" He guesses from his mother's call, "right?"

 

He pats him on the shoulder, trying to keep his attention.

 

"This battle isn't real, Ben." Armitage tries to tell him.

 

He's tense - prepared at any moment to feel the needlelike shredding of the debris - the fall out... That horrible aftermath but none come. He lifts his head - staring around them… The small voice pulls his attention back. He looks down at him, feels the pat of his hand on his shoulder. He tries to nod. Ben... That IS his name, right?

 

He rolls to the side, some of the sound is starting to fade - replaced with a ringing in his ears. The rapport of a singular shot.... His breath freezes in his chest and he shakes his head.

 

"No...." It is a mournful sound. In an instant, he wishes this was real. This horrific battlefield. He doesn't want to go back! Not to that room. Not to his father laying dead... He has to be dead. There was too much blood coming from his head to have lived. His eyes open and staring like the bodies that litter this field.

 

But.... What of his mother? He...

 

Armitage looks up at him. He's come to the side. He watches his form still seemingly suspended in some way. Floating, though heavy. He is startlingly dark against the white Armitage wears. Armitage is filled with drowning pity. His tears, he's sure, won't be far behind. He tries to reach for Ben again. He touches his arm...

 

"I'm sorry." Armitage tells him, his voice think with emotion. "But... but you can't stay here." Armitage tries to pull on him. "I'll help you, Ben, I promise..." his voice is so weak.... how can he make such a promise when he can't even help himself? Yet he must. He just has to. "you have to come with me..."

 

Ben feels the tug of the other boy. They are but two feeble saplings in an ancient forest of falling timber.

 

He is pulled towards that gleaming angel, tears slip down his cheeks, he is silent... Fearful of going back...

 

Father... Mother... The battlefield begins to fade... The little boy riding on his father's shoulders and the same one again who patiently endures his mother's brush working through the wild tangle of his hair gleaming like a polished onyx stone, fades too.

 

Back in his body... He collapses to the ground, his disorientation is shared by the guard who is too startled to grip him as he falls... A faint trickle of blood from his nose - his head aches as though it was a piece of botched firewood, the axe and wedge still lodged in it...

 

Armitage tries to come closer, to kneel before Ben and help him, but Brendol is at his back so soon, his hand clasping like a band of iron around Armitage's wrist. He drags Armitage back, away from Ben. Armitage looks for the boy's mother, but he can't see her... his features crease in pain at Brendol's harsh yank, as if Armitage is an abandoned toy he's found on the floor. Armitage tries to meet Ben's eyes.

 

"I'll help you, Ben!" Armitage meant to speak it in his mind...

 

But he hadn't. He gulps, realising his mistake, his eyes grow wide with horror. He's really done it now... he's dug a deep, deep hole to throw himself in. He watches Ben, even as he's pulled away.

 

"Make sure he doesn't cause trouble!" Brendol calls over his shoulder to the remaining soldiers. "Keep him restrained and take him with our winnings back home."

 

"Leave him alone!" Ben shouts - a pup yapping at a wolf. He watches as that brute of a man pulls Armitage away. He manages to get to his knees before the butt of a rifle sends him sprawling back to the floor unconscious and bleeding from a fresh wound on the side of his head.

 

Armitage swallows down tears. It's... it's the first time he can remember that someone has even attempted to defend him. He sees before it happens: the somehow jarring thud of the rifle butt on his head. Armitage sees a trail of blood leak from the hit, but that's the last he sees, now pulled roughly through the exits, his heart bound in heavy chains.

 

"Help him!" Brendol scoffs mockingly once they are back outside, round the back of the building, out of the direct view of the coming and going troops. Armitage tries to pull his wrist from his father's grip, with no success. "And how do you expect to help him?" Brendol jeers. Armitage struggles harder, not meeting his father's eyes.

 

"Where's his mothe-?" Armitage is about to interrogate in a high pitch, but Brendol's palm burns over where he had struck Armitage earlier.

 

"You don't get to ask questions, boy." Brendol snarls at him, both hands coming now, to fist in his child's collar.

 

Armitage lifts up his small hands, raking his small nails over Brendol's arms. Brendol's enormous fists clench tighter, leaving little room for Armitage to breathe, he hits his son against the hard surface of the wall, dizzying him for a solid minute.

 

"Don't BITE THE HAND THAT FEEDS YOU!" Brendol spits at him, throwing him against the wall even harder.

 

Armitage's arms fall limply at his sides as a small thick heat emerges at the back of his skull. Tears cascade from his eyes.

 

"I'm S-sorry..." Armitage whimpers, but he knows it's not enough.

 

Brendol drops him to the ground.

 

"You forget how lucky you are." Brendol fumes. "Because YOU are my only son, you will inherit this world."

 

He comes back to Armitage's body, lifting him by the underarms to his feet, only to pin him back against the wall, his giant knee digging into Armitage's hip, his hands back on his son's wrists, like burning manacles.

 

"I won't have any son of mine, and the next Emperor of our nation be a sobbing, weak-willed little welp every time he sees some spilled blood."

 

As if to illustrate the point, he moves to take both of Armitage's wrists with one hand, and with the other, fishes out a blade from his belt with a swift motion and a flash of metal. At the sight of it, Armitage's heart does a quickstep. He closes up the shutters of his eyes, tight, as if it will persuade his own father not to make an intrusion of his skin. No such luck.

 

"What did I tell you before we went inside, boy?" Brendol questions in a hiss.

 

Armitage shakes his head, pushing himself against the wall as if it will swallow him up. He tries to twist in Brendol's grip.

 

"Y-you told me to watch." Armitage says, though his eyes are still closed.

 

"That's right." Brendol confirms. His fist grows even tighter around Armitage's tiny wrists. "So open them." He demands.

 

Armitage shakes his head. He feels a sting on the side of his ribs that makes him gasp. He finally opens his eyes and stares down a the line of blood that is already beginning to stain the pristine white of his clothes. He turns his face away again, only to feel a further sting. A parallel line. He whimpers in discomfort and pain.

 

"Look." Brendol orders, making yet another line over the same place with his blade, cutting straight through Armitage's clothes. "LOOK!" He screams, and Armitage's high pitched cry joins that scream as the blade zigzags over the surface of that flesh.

 

He finally watches the blood blossom at his side. Not deep, but plenty of flesh wounds. His sight blurs with tears.

 

"Please..." Armitage whispers. "Please..."

 

Brendol finally draws away, dropping his wrists. Armitage sobs, cradling his hot, blood-soaked side with trembling hands.

 

"Take a good look at some spilt blood, boy." Brendol emphasises. "Observe next time, or have yours spilled instead of theirs."

 

Armitage nods, though he's seeing stars, he's seemed to have lost feeling in his toes. Numb and cold. He distantly can see the soldiers dragging the boy. Armitage suspects he will be put in a cell...

 

Brendol leaves Armitage to those same soldiers. He no longer has any time to be spent with his son. Not with whatever matter appeared on his data-pad. Armitage is escorted like a prisoner back to the convoy returning to his father's palace. His wounds are not attended to.  


	2. No dawn, no day, I'm always in this twilight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The spoils of war have been thrown to the hands of Fate. 
> 
> Fight or die. A hard lesson for a young prince to learn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: 
> 
> Child and Animal cruelty!

  


 

There was no time to adjust. He wakes in a prisoner transport - other women and children huddled into the darkness of the vehicle. He is scared - he recognizes no one. They are his people, from their lands, but their faces... Shrouded in shadow, their faces have become masks of horror!

Marked with bruises and blood, Ben lifts his hand to the side of his head. His fingertips come away red. He wonders if his face is the same.

He is hauled off the truck, alone. Into a street of slick cobblestones and waste in every crack. Rubbish piled up to the knees in some places. He’s never seen such filth before! There are slender bodies huddled under dripping eaves. Coughing and the occasional moan of discomfort. He shivers, his breath puffing into the air - eyes on the shamble of a building. Little more that rotted boards and moss covered gaps.  He is shoved into the waiting hands of a man far taller and wider than he has ever seen. He watches the truck pulling away - the last of his people, as far as he knows, moving out of sight. Where will they go? Where is he now?

He blinks up at the man who is observing him with something akin to pity or amusement.

"Bit small, Dog Food. Barely a bite." He rumbles, shoving the boy towards the door… “My name is Ben! Ben Organa!” He cannot fathom why he might be called ‘dog food’. He’s the son of a Queen!

“Poncy little prick! I take it back, you’ll be dog shit before the end of the week!” He guffaws.

It smells dank. Stale. Blood and sweat. A dark maw of steps like black rotten teeth.

He's shoved down the steps, half walking, half stumbling down the creaking wooden steps. Swallowed down the dark throat into what he thinks must be a cellar.

The man leaves him at the base of the stairs. Ben blinks, his eyes stinging in the smoky lantern haze. It’s almost too dim for him to see. Around him there are so many men and women! They're strapped into armor or bared entirely. He is aghast - never having seen anything like this! It reeks… Unwashed bodies and waste. And a new scent - one he will come to learn is blood and rot. His nose wrinkles.

Everyone is so tall!

He feels lost amongst them a wave of bodies in perpetual motion. He's on the floor before he realizes what's happened. Someone's knocked him over - he doesn't think it's deliberate - they can't even see him down here. A boot in his gut, someone steps on his arm. He cries out, trying to scramble out of the way - there's a roar of voices from somewhere overhead.

He's not allowed to be ignored for long. Someone spots him and he's thrown into his new life.

~

How many days has it been? Weeks? Months? He doesn't know. It's all a blur. He doesn't sleep much - the sounds of combat, life, and death all around him keeps him on edge, alert and frightened. Too many times he has thought he has found a safe place only to be hauled out kicking and shouting and thrown in amongst the others. He has to fight hard to keep a space of his own. Everything he cannot keep on his person is stolen. Every day he must try to start again.

He looks like a ghost, pale skin - dark hair with dark smudges under his eyes. The bruises don’t seem to fade, refreshed along with scratches and bite marks. 

He thinks he might be... Some kind of servant? A slave? He doesn't know - anyone can tell him to do anything and he quickly knows the harshness of their wrath if he doesn't comply. Often it's hauling gear and body parts from the blood soaked floors of the Pit. He’s not big enough to drag entire carcasses free of the arena.

Sometimes it's cleaning gear, sharpening weapons. In a way, it's mercy. Too busy to think. It's only for those last few seconds before exhaustion takes him each night that he finds a moment to try to remember his father and his mother.... Does she live? No one knows - they look at him with blank expressions if he speaks, like it's another language. The name Organa or Solo means nothing to them.

So he learns to be silent. This dark hole in the ground becomes his life. He learns to be quicker, more agile to avoid being crushed by heavy boots, knocked over or struck. He must be fast or he'll die... That's what one of them was muttering over and over again, thick viscous blood dripping from his lips, staining his teeth and soaking his chin.

"Y'gotta be quick, boy...." he choked, gurgling on his own death, drowning in his own blood. Ben could only stare, stare as he was drug away. He didn't know his name! No one will remember him! In a few days, Ben can't even remember his face...

Out in the blood ring is the only time he sees fragments of the sky. At least he thinks it is the sky. The twinkling lights he sometimes glimpses could be anything, though, he supposes. High domed glass that is often marked with soot and grime rises above them and only perpetuates the feeling that they live in the belly of death itself. Hidden in the decaying heart of the slums.

Everyday he feels memories of his old home slipping away. Kindness, his mother's loving embrace or his father's affection seem more and more like a tale he once heard rather than any reality he might have had. The boy from his memories seems as bright and equally far as a star in the night sky. There is no time for daydreams or hoping. He grows to know only hunger and desperation. Almost as feral as the caged hounds he passes, careful not to stray too closely, lest their snapping muzzles grab a piece of him as he skirts around them.

The world of this fighter's pit, the squalor he lives in... It's his life. And soon, he wonders if it will be his death.

He must abandon his preconceived notions of modesty. All the fighters are rounded up and pushed into the Pit. Hosed from above with ice cold water. There’s never enough time to get truly clean, just enough to push the main layer of grime away and scramble onwards to the the feeding den. A place almost more dangerous than the pit itself. Only the strong and clever eat. The weak perish from the hands of those who are hungrier or from fading away.

The day comes when a weapon is thrust in his hand and he's pushed into the sparring circle. Not the pit. Not yet. The children who survive long enough have to be tested first... 

It's an animal that snarls at him from across this smaller pen, biting at the air, teeth bared and slick with spittle. It strains at its chain - a starving dog. Harj, the owner of the Pit,  Ben has come to learn, keeps the dogs hungry. Ready to kill. Much like the children. Starved and half mad, desperate for a scrap to eat!

The beast is bigger and thicker than he is... He's terrified. But like the dog, he is starving, too. If he kills it, someone tells him, he can eat it. The hand on his shoulder is gone - faces gather around this smaller ring. He has to win. He has to win or he’ll die. He remembers seeing other children pulled free from this ring, little more than minced meat and a few shards of bone jutting from crimson valleys.

Voices call for bets. Dog or boy! Someone jests that they're the same. Someone says the boy is just meat for the dog. All he can see are snapping teeth and the hand that releases the chain.

He hardly remembers the fight as soon as it's over. Only that he stands over the hound. It whimpers, wheezing, bleeding from holes that Ben has made in its flesh. Recompense for the rending the dog has done to him. His arms bear the marks of teeth. He trembles, collapsing to the ground, soaked in blood. His own... the dog's...

Someone comes into the ring, taking his wrist. He drops the blade as his arm is yanked above his head. A chorus of booming voices as he's hoisted up onto someone's shoulders. He can only stare, mute - wide eyed and shell shocked. 

The fighters collect their meager pay outs on their bets. Some have credits, others take food portions... Ben is carried off and sat down by a fire burning in a rusted barrel. His eyes water at the black smoke. He's exhausted. He is hungry! He wants his meat! He earned it!

"Here, you go, boy..." Someone thrusts a tin mug into his hands - it burns! He hastens to take the handle, sniffing at the dark liquid inside.

"Bit o' caff... It'll put hair on your chest." Someone chuckles, thwaking him on the back. He doesn't know why he'd want hair on his chest but he's so thirsty. He takes a drink and someone else comes by with a plate of food. A stack of damp clothes only marginally cleaner than the rags he wears now.

He can't sleep. If it's even night time. He's lost all concept of night and day. Someone tells him it's the caff, as he sits, fidgeting. His foot tapping. He's wide awake and there's a pile of gear to clean. The dead don't keep their equipment. These belong to whoever is strong enough to take them. Just like food. Just like life.

"Better pick some.. You'll be in the blood ring with the big girls and boys soon enough."

He is swift - ashamed at how quickly he's prepared to throw a punch at another child his own age if it means taking a better piece of armor. It's hard to find things small enough to fit. It's difficult to find weapons that suit their size that wont' tire them. A primal need to survive makes him ruthless and the more he eats, the stronger he gets.

Brawls break out but it doesn't take long for the seasoned eyes of the overseers to see that this little one, Kylo - what they've started calling him since that day he bested the dog and they stopped calling him Dog Food - will be a contender. There are whispers of those who think to kill him now before they have to fight him in the Pit. Others protect him without his knowledge, planning to make money from his victories. Use or be used.

Being little is a luxury he’ll not have for long. His big dark eyes lose their innocence and in place of wide eyed terror comes a narrowing, a keenness. Soon he does not dread facing the beasts. Dogs, boars, wild cats… Other children.  

Outside is a dream. He never looks up anymore.

 


	3. Turn Off The Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The son of the Emperor means no easy road. 
> 
> Lessons must be learned. Only the strong survive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: 
> 
> Brendol's bad parenting techniques.

Everything he knows, aside from the blood his father sheds, the dirt under his boots, is monochrome. Pristine white marble and ivory surfaces. So clean, that he could believe the world inside to be black and white. He would gaze at the trees. The flowers, which are rarely displayed; his father lacks aesthetic appreciation of so small and delicate creations as flowers. Still, colour appeals to him... as escape.

He can't stop thinking of the boy with midnight hair and warm eyes. He had... actually tried to stand up for Armitage... and Armitage had promised to help him, but where is he now?

He has little time to think of anything at all.

First he dresses his wound on his ribs. Then he must change out of his clothes and into fresh, in case the blood will stain, will the maids help sew them up? They sometimes take pity on him.

Armitage is late for his tutoring. He scales breathlessly up flights of snowy stairs, his wound only freshly and loosely bandaged with small, trembling, thumbling fingers.

He tries to be as quiet as possible, as attentive as possible as he is taught further about the geography of the world as they know... taught the history of military strategies. Where forces failed, how his father succeeded. How Armitage will one day have to succeed.

His father’s words ring in his mind, a harsh vibration, like the crashing of cymbals:

‘You forget how lucky you are... you will inherit this world...’

‘I won't have any son of mine, and the next Emperor of our nation be a sobbing... weak willed... little...’

The next Emperor.

Armitage begins to seriously think of such a day more often in his hours of tutoring. Even with all the thousands of words crammed into his mind, he still can't comprehend it. It doesn't seem like he will be anything other than the bastard boy in the empty palace corridors. So ornate... like a wedding cake, like a jewellery box in which he is locked. He may never leave without an escort. He has learned, now, to be content to live inside this blank page, except for when he follows his father to watch further bloodshed. It's always more bloodshed... and the next time he will be damned if he turns away, protests or closes his eyes. The next time, there will be no flesh wound. It will be a stabbing, if he disobeys, Armitage is sure.

He shudders to think of it. He already is littered with scars. He already cries himself to sleep because of the pain he feels while resting in a cold, empty bed. The rooms are so large that it gets cold quite easily.

He tries, often, to inquire about the boy. About Ben. Such a question is either treated with scorn and, if he is to ask his father, assault. He learns to no longer ask. Breaking his promise, he realises with a heaviness he will likely never escape. He soon believes the boy must be dead... and it weighs on his heart like the ball at the bottom of a chain. He seemed, even in his agony... so full of fire. Of... care too. Armitage thinks foolish things: that in another life, he might be Armitage's only friend... in this perfect palace where no child roams, other than himself.

It is not with any great surprise that he begins to work through his education at a fast pace. When he is not beaten, not watching death, he is reading and when he is not reading, he sleeps. His life holds as little colour as it does excitement which doesn't involve fear, even at so young an age.

Considering these circumstances, the young Armitage was hardly expecting one day to be hurried briskly from his study in the late afternoon, taken out of his finery and put into his hunting gear; boots, a fleece jacket and small, thermal trousers, loaded into a pod alone, his questions unanswered by guards, and only released from the confines of the pod when it had exited the city.

Such a circumstance meant only one thing and one thing Armitage dreaded more than anything else in his miserable childhood: this day was to be a test.

Brendol did give him tests. Tests of his survival. Tests of his endurance. This must be such a test. He is soon informed as much, as a holographic message is sent on a glitching signal instructing him to find a kyber crystal in the caves nearby.

Armitage is surprised. He knows, even so young, what kyber crystals are for. They can be difficult to find! It might take him more than the rest of the day... and how will he return when night comes?! The guards have deserted him... can he somehow reconfigure the pod to allow him to return? He has never tried it! Not to mention how near... to the woods he is.

Though his existence is sheltered and housed primarily in castles, it doesn't prevent the stories filtering in. Lost souls and detached bodies... creatures of darkness, hunting for blood and for the life within hearts... heartbeats to claim as their own because they can hear the rhythm. Likely they will be able to hear Armitage’s heart most of all, for as he wanders nearer the shadows of the trees, unarmed, his heart throbs terribly in his chest, as he begins to question what will happen if he were to never return. Who would become the new Emperor? Surely his father must be prepared for such a possibility? Armitage has been less and less likely to survive the next test in comparison to the last...

He has read much about kyber crystals. Their use in weaponry...

Is he...

Is this to build a lightsaber? He's unsure. He thought himself too young to wield one, but his father would be unlikely to share such a concern. He tries to keep track of his progress, knowing all too well that the woods, even the outskirts, will try to entice him. He feels already as if he is being watched...

He has only had a few lessons in fencing and boxing, his knowledge of the force is so, so limited... and he possesses no weapon! What if... bandits take him and hold him for ransom? Surely Brendol will pay nothing for him...

He overthinks for a child. His concerns are already the concerns of an adult, mixed with the more naive fears that the approaching darkness will swallow him whole, that he will be ripped to shreds by monsters he crafts mainly from his own imagination.

Still, the mouth of the cave approaches. A giant, black mouth. Armitage swallows hard. His boot snaps a branch and a flurry of dark wings and terrible, piercing caws makes him cry out in alarm, since the sound is so jarring against the echoing silence that seems to extend from within the cave.

Hesitantly... he begins to crawl to the stony walls. It is so large a beast... so large a mouth with jagged teeth that he crawls into... he feels nothing more than an ant. A snack to be gulped down. About to be crushed by shadow.

There's no other option. If there is a kyber crystal, it will be in this enormous, hollow cave. He only wishes he possessed a light of some kind... to guide his way... it looks like he will have to be blind. To feel his way along the rock...

He would drive the pod with the headlamps inside, but it won't work so far away as Armitage as walked from it. It is so dreadfully silent...

Armitage waits at the cusp of the mouth of the cave for what feels like years for a child but has likely only been some minutes. He must not prove himself a coward. His father has demanded he enter this inky cave alone... and so he will do so. He summons his courage.

He takes a few steps that clatter so deafeningly in the darkness. He looks one last time into the light... before he begins to feel his way along the wall, into the throat of the inside of the cave. His eyes don't adjust to the pitch, as thick and opaque as oil. He is blind... and must try to see through his hearing and his sense of the force. He steps, staggering; the ground has grown more uneven. He still feels the weight of icy eyes watching him, somehow, even through this impenetrable shadow, following his progress, waiting for him to stop walking in order to pounce, to bite into his flesh, or take him, rip him to pieces with grizzly claws, detaching his wildly beating heart from his body, bloodied and slick, pulled threads of sinew! His breaths have grown more unsteady, gooseflesh on his skin, his uneasy breathing echoes in the cave like a chorus of ghostly singers. He gasps-! His shoe has collided with a sharp rock like a talon, his weak ankle twisting from under him, he can only yelp as his entire body is falling away from the cave wall, flung down upon a hard surface, where he tumbles over what feels like shards of glass, cutting his hands and knees until he lands, with a crack on his back, still unable to see anything except the colour of ink, he sobs quietly.

He shifts, sometime later, wincing and moaning softly. His hot, wet hands seem to burn. His ankle screams it's protests as he attempts to move. The stone is frosty and rough under his touch as he reaches behind him... only to feel an empty space. Nothing is there. He's on... a precipice. He makes a small cry of despair and terror that repeats and repeats below him.

Alone... injured... lost...

What if he can't find his way back out to the wall? What if there are no kyber crystals in the first place?! What if he is found by what he was sure was watching?! What if... What if-?!

His small chest heaves. He gathers himself. As carefully as he is able, not knowing what precarious position he might be lying in.

Despite the tears cast down his cheeks... he must persevere. He feels around a layer of rock... some stones he might climb in order to get back up again... if only his grazed and bloodied hands weren't so slippy! He dries them, as hastily as he is able on his trousers before continuing, balancing more on the leg that doesn't hold a twisted ankle.

He pauses. Listening. Something... something seems to whisper his name. He isn't afraid of the sound. Perhaps it is a trap... He has learned already to be skeptical and yet... there's a foreign... kindness there.

His eyes widen as a faint, blue glow meets them. That's it! The source of light! It's a kyber crystal! He's found one! He's FOUND one!!! He smiles, almost laughs aloud, finally holding a kind of hope, he treads as carefully as he is able... reaching to the cluster that's housed itself within the rock... so tightly! He claws at it with his fingernails but the nails chip at his efforts. He hisses softly at the added pain... before searching for... there has to be a sharp stone! To help him pry the crystal from the rock! His small hands skim over the ground, but he can only find one that might be too small...

He can only try. He reaches, balancing along the edge, his arms are too small! Still, he reaches, chipping as hard as he is able around the crystal... trying to dislodge-

It cracks from the stone, falling!!! Armitage reaches out, one kyber crystal falls away into the black abyss... the other, Armitage catches. In his palm.

His hand fists over that blue light. It... makes him feel warm. Calm. Collected...

He sighs, an immeasurable relief washing over him. Using the light from the crystal, he slowly attempts to scramble from the cave... he manages to find a foothold to help him. He can almost see the light of the outside if he squints...

The foothold falls through... his BLOODY ankle! Armitage launches an arm to a stone over his head, dangling, the crystal still lodged tight in his palm. He hands for a moment, in utter despair, but the crystal seems to glow! It gives him strength. He focuses... his arms grazing, but he ignores the pain, climbing higher... until he is over, to the surface. The cave wall close by to follow, back into the blinding light that hurts his eyes at first, until he blinks away the sensation.

From there, he runs. Sprinting, stumbling, hopping, desperate to get back to the pod... the orb of the sun is tainted with red. He leaps into the circular vehicle, pulling it closed around him, a shelter, until he can figure out...

He takes a moment to observe the crystal. So beautiful! Like a piece of the sky! It glistens like a star yet shines blue, like the daytime. Armitage stares at it longingly. How can something so shining and kind... be used for such mass destruction? He shakes his head in disbelief, lost in his thoughts... that is, until, his eyes settle on a scanning device.

He hesitates, but slowly raises the crystal to the scanner...

The pod hums into life, turning around, it begins to pull in, pulling him all the way back home…

He can almost trick himself into believing it sometimes to be like a home. He closes his eyes. Not realising he has fallen asleep until the pod pulled to a halt. The door is flung open. Armitage’s breath hitches. The giant shadow cast over him! His father! Armitage's jaw drops, working hard to find an explanation but... but he... he achieved the mission! Why should he try to find an excuse when he did everything right! Didn't he?! Then... why does his father still look so angry?! Why does his mighty hand pull so roughly on Armitage’s small, strained arm as he drags him from the pod? Armitage's ankle refuses to hold him. His titan-like father leans down, carelessly snatching the crystal from his hand. Something terrible and yet terrific urges Armitage to cry out in fiery defiance...

“I found that crystal!” He yells. “It's MINE!”

His father sneers, utterly disgusted, his large nose wrinkling at the sight of his son's bloodied hands.

“Shut your whining mouth, boy.” He snarls, dragging a bruised Armitage back through the doors...

In the white, light, Armitage can see how dirty his clothes are. His hands are scarlet and nails slick with blood and mud grains... he lands with a thump on the floor while Brendol observes the crystal with his mighty fingers before tossing it to the ground... like... it's nothing! Armitage leaps after it, determined to treasure it, he takes it quickly into his hands, cradling it like a child smaller than himself.

“Don't throw it!” Armitage protests.

“You need to bleed it.” Brendol snorts.

Armitage stares at him. Bleeding... His mind is racing. Did he read about bleeding? How does it work? Why should he do it?

“H-how-?” Armitage stutters, only to be interrupted.

“Pour into it your pain and hatred through the force.” Brendol snaps simply.

Pain... and hatred? Armitage doesn't understand. How can he... pour it? He stares stupidly, but captains in perfect uniforms are rushing to address his father, their voices sharp and urgent. Armitage notices the next room is where the balcony lies, for announcements. Will his father make a speech, now?! Will he show his people his face? He simply continues to observe the crystal as his father’s enormous boots pound across the floor, slamming open the next door, marching to stand before a sea of raucous followers and stiff soldiers that applaud and cheer his arrival so loudly that Armitage can feel the vibrations through the floor.

Armitage finds his feet, still aching and sore... he limps an inch at a time towards the door, eager to at least see a glimpse...

So many white uniforms! Armour shells, he notices. An army! Like tiny, stacked dominos... All copies... of each other-

The heavy, cream doors are brutally shoved shut in front of his small face by guards decked in scarlet. Still, Armitage is unlikely forget just how MANY people his father is currently addressing, his booming voice sounding on a microphone, but Armitage doesn't listen to his roaring words.

He wanders back into the room. There lies a stand. He creeps closer, peering at the silk cloth in gold, lining it. A rare spot of colour. There... is a golden crown of leaves, laid on top of it. His father didn't wear it... Armitage looks down again at the cobalt crystal, then back to the crown. His trembling fingertips reach towards the gold leaf pattern... it looks so... clean! The way it shimmers...

There's the sound of drawing blades. Armitage’s heart is stuttering again. The guards! They must have seen him touching the crown! He gulps, limping fast, he scampers further away, into another empty room with a large floor where the lights are off. He can sit alone in the blue glow... and ponder over the crystal...

Pour hatred and pain into it...

He can... pour his pain into it, at least, can't he?

He doesn't understand. He tries to focus in how much pain he feels... but the crystal remains blue. He sits in the room for full hours, sitting in different positions on the floor and staring into the crystal, trying to understand.

The door crashes open and the heavy footfall of his father can be heard. His father doesn't turn on the lights. He... he starts to panic. What if he can't do it?! Soon his father stands before him. Solid, black boots in front of his face and wide eyes. Armitage stares up at him helplessly as his father leans down, his eyes finding the sapphire, glowing crystal...

“I don't... know how...” Armitage whispers, hiding his face in his hands.

“Because you're not strong enough.” Brendol growls at him.

Armitage’s face is creased in desperation. He doesn't understand! But all too soon his father’s meaty hand finds his tiny, bony fist with the crystal at his palm...

“You feel the light side inside that crystal?” Brendol asks Armitage gruffly.

Is that what it is? The soft feeling within? The surety? Armitage nods.

“We crush it.” Brendol tells him. “You... crush it.”

Suddenly Armitage is afraid. He doesn't want to! It seems precious... seems like it is too full of life to be crushed!

“No!” Armitage exclaims in a whisper, but his father’s great fist is squeezing his own small, bloodied hand against the crystal.

It seems... to scream from deep within. Armitage can feel it! Pain!

“Father stop!!!” Armitage demands desperately, but his father’s efforts don’t cease.

He crushes Armitage’s small hand, in turn crushing the crystal within his grip... with a dark force...

A bright light erupts from the crack within the crystal, it cries louder in Armitage’s mind, ringing in his ears! It hurts! Yet his father’s grip doesn't budge, even as the sound grows louder and Armitage sees visions... visions of himself, beaten in a dark room...

Pour into it your pain and hatred through the force...

Armitage looks up and behind him, at his father’s boar-like face, wrinkled, his teeth grit.

“LET GO!” Armitage bellows at him, his voice raw, his body aching, the crystal’s cry of agony so loud that he can hardly hear his own scream. “LET GO!!!” Armitage repeats even louder, but his father doesn't hear him.

‘You have to learn...’ His father’s voice speaks in his mind. ‘Hatred...’

Armitage’s heart burns with it as he glares at his father’s face.

‘...and pain.’

Armitage feels the charge but he is not ready for it, barely able to beg him not to do it...

He feels the scattering, ripping burn all too soon as Brendol lights his body with red electricity in the dim lighting of the room. Armitage screams, his hand still clenched tight on the crystal in Brendol’s own, he writhes on the floor, crying out and all he can do in his mind is beg... please... PLEASE!!! Stop!!

It finally ceases.

Armitage lies. Broken and motionless... as Brendol finally releases his small hand.

He looks into his palm. The crystal! It... it's changed shape... and the colour! It glows red... not blue.

He looks up to his father. In horror. In wonder. His father is already marching away as if nothing has happened... while Armitage steams... his veins feel burst.

“Figure out the rest and build yourself a weapon.” Brendol orders, slamming the door again behind him.

~

It takes Armitage too long to lift himself from the floor. The crystal feels... different. It feels hot in his hand. Charged. Malicious. He misses how the blue felt.

Nevertheless, he begins the process, crafting himself a clean lightsaber handle, he has machines, at least, to aid him in this. Slotting the crystal inside. He doesn't yet dare to test the weapon, but keeps it concealed.

The lightning, rushing from his father’s palm, lingers in his thoughts.

Will he ever... be able to...?

He spends nights, trying to think back to that pain. Brendol involves him more in boxing opponents of around his age and height. He hates having to fight... but it helps his resolve. He remains sheltered... but only learns more regarding the force... and what a powerful but often ruthless thing it seems to be.

One night... he thinks he manages to shoot a fizzing spark out of his fingertip.

He tells one of his tutors, who ridicules him:

‘No child so young can possibly learn force lightning so quickly, not even the Emperor’s son.’

But he did. Armitage is sure...

He did.


	4. Secrets and Wishes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fate reunites what it has drawn apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No particular warnings! :O What?!

Armitage hates coming here. It's dirty. Bloody. Brutish. 

Brendol, however, insists on bringing his son now that he’s older when it used to just be for his own disturbed pleasure. A time for him to enjoy his savagery without the effort of exacting it with his own hands, with a drink nearby, becoming one with the noise, the wild and rowdy shouts of a swarming crowd, more animal than human, watching his beasts fight. Armitage tries, over time, to understand his father's delight at watching fleshy limbs fall to pieces. Is it because they are the privileged? Or that he is, at least. Being Emperor. Sitting on a throne far above while the ground of the hell he allows is soaked in blood? Is it satisfaction? Or more than that? Like when he pulls a trigger or throws a punch? A thrill... an addiction...?

Whatever the case, Armitage still hates this place. Yet, he has learned not to actively embrace the hatred. He has learned simply to be present. Numb and watching as if he were inanimate. He begins to even support the tiny figures in his mind. He hopes that the seemingly more vulnerable will survive. They very rarely do. Or at least, not with all of their limbs.

Once more, his father has taken him there. To place his bets for the next round of champions. Brendol has so many riches that he can afford to be a gambling man and lose every time, without losing anything at all. His father's back is turned. They stand in the underbelly, able to look out into the Pit itself. The place where so many have met their deaths for the sake of some entertainment.

It's dusty here. Unlike the world outside of blank and spotless spaces. Armitage finds himself beginning to wonder. To stare out at the seats. He casts his eyes from the raked tiers to the ground where they stand. He hears a soft ring of something being polished... perhaps. He follows the sound. A crouched figure with raven-like features is absorbed in his task.

Armitage blinks. Taking some bold steps forward. He shoots a look back at Brendol, but his father is hardly paying attention. It can't be...

"Ben...?" He whispers mainly to himself. It will be humiliating if he's only dreaming it.

Fortunately, Brendol's appetite for destruction isn't focused on the children, at the moment... He applauds their use of the sparring ring as a way to weed out the weaker fighters - but the ones who survive... Like Ben... are to be groomed - made ready to be contenders when it comes time for the Naming Tournament.

It means a grueling routine of training, working, and fighting for food. Those who aren't competitive enough will eventually starve. Ben is fleet of foot and nimble. Soon, they think he might even be strong. His long limbs give him an advantage of reach but he's still quite gangly and scrawny. Better than when he had first arrived, however, his growing strength means he’s able to grab more food.

He's got spirit. That much had attracted one of the veterans who has in a way, adopted him. Not enough to grant him any privilege - anything he gets he must fight for, like everyone else. But enough to scrape extra winnings to show for his investment, making Ben his 'dog' to put into the fight. Enough to be given some advice. Sometimes, something to help him manage the pain.

That's all there is. Fighting, death and betting. Some of them fall into the passions of the flesh - a squirming huddle of filth. Something Ben doesn't understand and avoids at all costs - victors come from the Pit, high from victory and it's dangerous to be caught in the flow of their energy. Passionate or violent. Certainly no place for one so young.

At the moment he is give the task of sharpening weapons. He does so dutifully, having quickly adopted the techniques that makes each stroke of the whetstone precise. He glances up, eyes widening at the sight before him.

There he is! That angel of resplendence in a drab world. He blinks, lips parting in surprise. He gets to his feet. For having been so absorbed in his task, he now tosses it away, his dark eyes fixed solely, it seems, on Armitage. For a reason Armitage can't understand, his heartbeat has increased its pace ever-so-slightly. He glances nervously back in the direction of his father, but Brendol has only seemingly moved further away. Ben has grown... Hux remembers him as slender and only slightly taller. Now he seems to tower above Armitage. His arms have developed muscles. He circles Armitage. Armitage stays still. He doesn't think he's... afraid. Just... stunned.

"I thought you were a dream!" Ben exclaims softly, circling him, inadvertently in a mannerism he has adopted from his time in the training ring.

Armitage flinches at his boldness. Not many approach the likes of him so swiftly and so confidently. He makes a small sound. Something like a laugh, but... it's perhaps too sad to be one. He remembers Ben... very well. He wants to ask Ben a thousand questions but his very presence, working in this place highly concerns him. He sighs, trying not show how inexplicably nervous he is.

"I thought they might have killed you." Armitage confesses.

"They have certainly tried!" Ben snorts, grinning widely. Better taken as a child. Easier to adapt and to change. To forget. More like water than stone. That's what he heard one man say. An old man.... Most disregarded The Sage as a mandman amongst the warriors but Ben did not...

An old man in a small world where everyone seems to die in their prime... Is someone to be listened to.

"And will try again..." His arms crossing over his slender chest. "But they won't succeed." He's grown more confident. Less a boy... More a killer.

Life is short. Cheap. Sometimes forever is only the space of a few seconds before someone's life is expended. He grabs Armitage's hand, leading him carefully through lines of benches, filthy sleeping cots and piles of gear - into a corner that he's eked out as his own… Armitage is shocked by the contact. When has someone other than Brendol last taken his hand like this? Like... a friend. He sounds so brave. So sure. Armitage almost envies it, but it is all he envies. Especially as Ben leads him into the shadows. One of the dirtiest places Armitage has ever laid eyes on. He wonders how anyone could sleep here... in one of those cots they pass.

If there is anything amiss to Ben, dragging him along - it certainly does not show. He doesn't know the meaning of stopping and waiting... Thinking often times gets fighters killed. It's instinct that propagates further survival. And the ability to act.

"Sit!" He bids, shuffling around with his few possessions - things he's collected and had to fight to keep. Things like a mug, a plate, utensils. A rusted can that contains granules of Caff. A kettle that might not be his - he lifts carefully from the firepit burning between his little squalor and the gruff looking woman beside them.

Armitage feels as comfortable as a lamb surrounded by dogs. Still, he sits where Ben gestures. He can't help himself. He's too curious. Too hopeful. Ben... is alive...

Ben licks his lower lip, his concentration intense as he stealthy moves it over the twist of rope between them - she lets out a heavy snore, head rolling forward. He's almost giggling when he pours the hot water into the mug. He's hasty to return the kettle. Armitage jumps when he notices the sleeping woman and tenses anxiously, but at her snore, Ben laughs and that softens him. He almost smiles...

"She never guards her water..." He whispers, stirring some dark powder into the water before holding it out to Armitage. There is nowhere else to sit but the pile of blankets he has offered the other boy so he plunks down on the ground. Half his dark hair pulled back into a ponytail. 

Armitage carefully takes the mug by the handle. He smells the mixture. He blinks. Does it taste as bitter as it-? Yes. Yes it does... He tries to hide his lack of enthusiasm for the drink. Perhaps it will be better after it's cooled. His attention is drawn back to Ben, who sits in front of him.

"So what're you doing down here?" He asks, sitting cross legged as he observes the other boy.

Armitage would rather not answer, but the way Ben addresses him... like he's just... a kid, like him... Armitage must answer him.

"Father likes to take me to watch the games." Armitage admits. "He came here to place bets."

It sounds so shameful. Especially in the company of Ben and... even though he can't see anyone- any others. Still, Ben's pleased as punch to have someone to talk to. Nobody has friends down here. It's a dangerous concept. Nobody wants to kill a friend and they all know at some point or another, they'll have to face each other and wear the blood of the fallen.

Ben barely remembers Armitage's father - so much of those last moments with his family is a violent, awful blur...

"Wellll....." Ben mulls it over, shifting his position so is side-by-side with Armitage, he begins to point out various fighters. Their names, who is strong and who has been injured... He sees so much, being on the sidelines - training and sparring. Even cleaning the gear, he hears so much... It's all a bit of a puzzle that he enjoys trying to put together. Armitage is strangely absorbed in this other world. A world of men and women that will die for a moment of Brendol's attention and time. Suddenly when they are all presented here, not stick figures in the midst of a battle down below, Armitage regrets trying to follow his father's mentality. Trying to choose one or the other. It doesn't matter. They're all, almost all of them, going to be sent to the slaughter and then replaced.

"Tell your da to bet on Fyren. He's the best we've got down here, at the moment." He nods, Fyren has been holding the title for weeks. He's well rested, well fed... Ben saw him, he's rubbed one out so he's focused - fluid... Ready. Something he hadn’t realized was a component until he heard some of the other fighters talking about it. Thankfully, it’s nothing Ben has had to address. 

Armitage would have gratefully accepted the advice, were he not entirely convinced that his father wouldn't listen to a word he would have to say or any kind of suggestion he might make.

"And one day..." He looks Armitage right in the eye, with a wide grin, "Bet on Kylo. He's going to win every fight." His tone has shifted. Just a little. Armitage meets his eyes. He's surprised by how... open. How oddly hopeful Ben is. Is it because he's been lonely too? Armitage's brow furrows as he scans over and lists the names Ben has mentioned so far. This is the first mention of any Kylo, he is sure.

"Who's..." Armitage stares at Ben.

No...

Armitage's jaw drops. A sadness swells up inside of him. It isn't fair...

"You're..." Armitage stammers, "y-you're...?"

Ben nods, somehow excited to share this information. Armitage’s face falls at the full realisation. He has made a promise he couldn't keep and yet he has remembered it this entire time. He looks at Ben, a mournfulness behind his eyes.

"You get a name when you win a fight." Ben says, eyes lighting, quick to clarify. There's precious little to be proud of. So few things to mark one span of being awake as any different to another. This one, however, he will remember for weeks to come - visited by a boy who is a bright point in the darkness of this gory underbelly, he shines in comparison, like the sun... He sees the other boy's sadness and feels compelled to make it better, somehow.

"You don't have to call me Kylo, though... You can still call me Ben if you like." He offers, giving him a lopsided grin, trying to cheer him "But only you."

He tells him that Armitage can still call him 'Ben'. It's little reassurance, in regards to his situation, but his seeming confidence and odd enthusiasm at least helps Armitage to believe... he smiles softly. 

Only him… 

Ben has success in bringing a small smile to the other boy's face. He looks overly satisfied with himself. 

"I'm sorry." Armitage whispers. "I promised I would help you and..." he leans back, drawing up his knees to his chest. "And I haven't done anything." Still, Armitage apologises, drawing his knees up. 

Ben's lower lip works for a moment, trying to think of what to say... He doesn't know how to clarify the situation or make it better... He wants to ask about his mother but he remembers how the boy had been struck down by his own father. He can't ask him to get into trouble on his account. Yet it is still tempting - no news of the outside world gets through down here... Nothing that isn't fight related, that is.

The conversation moves along, however - and his face takes on different expressions as he talks about the fights and his own plans. He's too young to think so far ahead, truly. Especially with so much death around him... Being told he'll die any day now...

"I'll get a last name," He offers, changing the subject and dragging his own attention away. "When I'm old enough. I'm gonna fight in the naming tournament. You get to take from the name of the one you defeat and make it into your last name. Tribute, the fighters say..." He doesn't mention that many of the fighters on the day will be auctioned off. It's the one tournament where the fighters are not to war with each other until death. But those who don't win have little value for the Pit.... They're sold off to noble houses who host their own, smaller and informal fights. If he wins, leading up to it... If he becomes as undefeatable as he hopes - he'll not be placed on the block, however... the House always keeps their most prized fighter…

Armitage never knew as much. Then again, he had never wanted to be interested in the deathly fights until Ben talked of it like this- almost animatedly. He could listen to him for a long, long time and he's sure he might never be bored. Ben shifts, trying to think of something else to say - realizing that he's been talking... A lot. He didn't realize how lonely he was. Or how desperate for conversation, to see another face that isn't in a scowl of bloodlust and trying to crush his skull.

"Do you do fighting?" He asks, somewhat lamely, uncertain, what it is that young boys are supposed to do anymore, if not for fight. A life in which bloodshed hadn’t been the sum of his expectations, he cannot think what he could have been. Armitage now has little doubt that the two of them are both alone. Yet not in this moment that they sit side by side. Armitage ought not to make them both sad when he doesn't know if or when they'll ever meet again.

Armitage looks at him. He wants to laugh, since being the prince of this nation, he's hardly about to be thrown into the colosseum. Still, he forgets that Ben is... or was, a prince too. Of a poor country, but nonetheless… As for the true answer to Ben's question, he is trained, of course, but doesn't need to fight until his father decides to brandish his fights or a weapon at him again.

"I do shooting?" Armitage offers uncertainly. Ben's brows lift.

"Shooting!" He exclaims, nudging closer - anything sounds more exciting than what he contends with here!

"Father wants me to try boxing soon, but I hear his advisers say that fist fighting is unseemly for... a prince like me." He sighs. Boxing... He studies Armitage's face for a long moment and then finds himself agreeing with these advisers that he doesn't even know... Bruises wouldn't suit his fair skin. Not a freckle in sight! He's never seen anyone else with skin like his, he's sure. Especially not down here... He looks so... clean.

He has to stop bringing up the trials of his father! Now he's finally away for a moment, he has to leave it... think of something else... he smiles as he has an idea. He's smiling again and Ben mirrors it - simply happy for the conversation, the company.

"I'm also trained in the force." Armitage answers, before realising: does Ben even know what it is? The power inside of him?

"Hm? The Force?" He echoes, uncertain. Before he can ask for further clarification - movement draws his eye. He's up on his feet and has firmly planted his fist in the face of another child around their age. 

"Skrog off, gutter rat!" He growls - though in a boy's voice it is hardly intimidating, ripping away a small white pouch from his hands. The other child makes a pained noise, clutching at his nose before running off with red leaking between his fingers. 

Armitage's eyes widen and lips part slightly at Ben's unexpected assault of the other child, though he settles when he sees his own snowy pouch that Ben has won back for him. 

Ben looks down at the pouch, realizing nothing this ornate belongs down here... He holds it out to Armitage. His fingers, sadly, have marked the purity of the white material. Like it has been touched by a ghost. As if he can't believe he almost lost it, he pats himself down, only to find, indeed, it isn't there. He stares at Ben incredulously, coming to his feet as Ben holds it back to him.

"I think this is yours."

His fingers have stained it, but when Armitage is in a blank space... he will now have a little stain that isn't blood to remind him of an entirely different world. He takes it back, hesitantly, his eyes still fixed in wonder on Ben's ragged features and dirt-dusted skin. Wild, and yet he helped Armitage...

"Thank you." Armitage whispers, though the whisper is full of awe and gratitude. His eyes still wide.  
Ben watches him get to his feet, his expression... He's about to affirm that he hadn't taken it but Armitage plucks the pouch from his fingers.

"No need to thank me." Ben offers, his eyes moving to scan their surrounds. Thieves aren't uncommon here...   
"I should have heard him coming." He muses.   
When he looks back to Armitage, the boy is reaches into the pouch, removing a small handful of credits. He has so many and his father has already made his bets, Armitage is sure, so why would he need more? Yet Ben looks like he might be starving still... he holds them out. Ben stares, dark eyes growing wide as saucers.

"Will these help you?" Armitage asks.

It's a poor way to help, but if it helps him nonetheless…

"W-what?" He looks dumbfounded. Technically, they're not allowed to have their own money. Money is for citizens... Fighters are only temporary citizens at best. He looks at them longingly... 

"We're not allowed..." He frowns… "Not... Unless we're... Battle-whores." It's not a term he likes - but the fellow-warriors here call those who get patrons.... well.... that...

Armitage blinks. Still, Ben did seem to watch them longingly.

"Oh..." he lowers his eyes. "Right."

It seems he can't help Ben after all. At least, not in that sense. He smiles as a thought of mischief... a daydream of sorts, crosses his mind. He's not supposed to think of such things.

"When I'm Emperor," Armitage speaks cautiously, quietly, as if it's a great secret. The possibility seems so far away. "You'll be allowed to do whatever you want." He grins, knowing he's being somewhat foolish. Ridiculous, even. "And if you don't want to, you won't have to fight anymore, even though you'll be the best there is."

He is drawn in by Armitage's mischievous grin. His eyes widen as he speaks of becoming Emperor. What he says... It sounds... dangerous. Unwise, even, to contemplate but it sparks in his head like a stray ember rolling from a fire pit.

"Well, I hope you're Emperor soon, then! But I have a ways to go... Til I'm the best best..." He rolls up his sleeve, baring three ragged lines on his forearm. The dog... He frowns, they're already scarring… Armitage notices the marks on his forearm. He wants to... he doubts it's been properly cleaned... especially not in a place like this. Still, he doesn't ask. There's only so much he could do. He's only had to clean wounds before on himself and Ben's looks like it's going into latter stages.

Armitage looks back down at the pouch. He'd be only too willing to give it, though he fears someone would notice... he dismisses the thought. He has limited possessions! Who would notice?

"Are you sure I can't..." he holds the pouch between them. The thief must have wanted it for a reason, after all. Ben wants to, his stomach practically howls at the thought of how much food he could buy!

"Maybe... Just a couple?" He looks back up to Armitage's face.

Ben's lower lip twitches as if he's chewing on a thought...

"Maybe you can sponsor me! When they let me in the Pit!" He makes a grand bow, "I will salute you before every battle!" He grins, straightening.

 

He instead nods instantly at Ben's suggestion. He takes his hand, pressing a couple into it, his eyes not leaving Ben's face.

Ben utters several softly whispered 'thank-you's, tucking them away into folds of his clothes, secreting them into hidden places. If he's caught with them... He won't think about that. He won't get caught, he tells himself. He looks up, Armitage's eyes still on him. He swallows hard.

"Thank you." He says again, a little louder, his hand resting on his shoulder for a moment before he quickly withdraws it, grimacing - tiny dark particles rest on the white material. He wants to brush it away, but he knows he'll only make it worse. "I-I'm sorry..." He takes a small step back, clasping his hands behind his back, kicking at something on the ground - looking somewhat bashful.

Armitage wants to protest at his apology. There's nothing to apologise for... they don't have what Armitage does. He... if he has to leave soon, Ben has to know about the force before he does.

"It's fine!" He tries to reassure.

He doesn't want Ben to stop touching him because it stains his clothes. He is so rarely touched in a friendly manner. It is true, however, that he dreads returning with his clothes stained. Something that won't escape the notice of the nobles. When he's not a tool or a nuisance, he's a doll. A perfect prince...

"There's a power we can both access." Armitage whispers, coming closer so Ben can hear.  
He stares, leaning in to hear the Prince better.

This is another secret; one that could be the line between his life and death in this place.

"It's called the force." Armitage broadens. "It's the spaces between all things." He reaches out his arm to demonstrate. "You just need to reach out..." Armitage concentrates, silently lifting the shaft of something, hidden behind one of the cots. Most likely a broken spear. "And feel what's around you. The tensions between the outside..." Armitage draws in a breath, beginning to lower the object again. "And the inside." He finishes, letting it touch the floor.

Ben can only watch, his attention on his outstretched arm. He gasps audibly at the broken haft of the spear rising from behind the cot. He scarcely hears... He must focus... But he... It's so.... Incredible!

"I... I can't do that..." He blinks back at Armitage's face - awe and wonder etched into his expression. 

"You mean," Armitage corrects, "you can't do it... yet."

"Yet..." He murmurs. It seems too unbelievable... Too incredible! 

"You're.... amazing!" Ben breathes.

Armitage hears his gasp at his demonstration. It makes a soft heat of pride blossom in his cheeks. He loves nothing more than admiration. For others to be impressed. Armitage smiles, casting his eyes to the floor in an odd embarrassment. His smile is a light. Nobody smiles down here... Ben sighs softly. It's... He knows he's not likely to ever see him again... His thoughts quickly turn melancholy... 

Armitage hasn't felt so warm in a long time. He doesn't want to leave. He feels... appreciated for once. Like someone actually wants him here… He realizes he's been wearing his gloves. He swiftly removes them, lifting his hand to Ben's. It's not until his hand is lifted that Ben can shake himself out of his dark reverie. 

"You can learn." Armitage tells him with certainty. "It's not too hard... you just need to practice."

Hesitantly, he takes his hand, a small smile on his lips.

"Well, I'll try, then. So I can make a sign, that way you'll know it's me... If you come back." His mind, taking him to the eventuality that he will one day look like the Sage. A gnarled mass of scars and injuries... Indistinguishable in armor, a helmet...

"I will. I'll come back..." It's not just a promise to Ben, but to himself too.

"I hope so." Ben responds.

He sighs, finally drawing away his hand. He's been gone for too long. For a reason beyond him, he's tired. Near exhausted. He doesn't want to return. He looks back to Ben, then back from where they had come. Ben looks down at his own, filthy hand and clasps it with his other, as if it fill the cold space his absence has left behind.

"I should..." Armitage draws his gloves back on, his voice heavy despite being so young.

"I have to go." He murmurs.

"Y-yeah..." Ben nods, finally pushing his hand through his unruly locks. "I'll be here..." He offers a grin and a small wave.

He gives Ben a final small smile before turning away, every step feeling like more effort than the last. He looks back, but he's gone too far and the boy is now out of his view. He attempts to dust down the marks of his clothes but has limited success before he comes back out into the open. He breathes a sigh of relief. Brendol isn't there. Armitage supposes it makes sense. He wouldn't waste more of his time waiting for his bastard son then would be in his interests. An expressionless and helmeted guard waits for him instead.

"The Emperor requested I take you back to your quarters." The guard says, his voice grainy through the modulator. "Any longer and he would have sent me to search for you."

Armitage shakes his head.

"No search needed." He responds quietly.

"Come on." The guard gruffly says, standing behind Armitage as if he's ready to push him forward if need be.

Armitage knows already such a thing isn't allowed. Nevertheless, his glance lingers at the doorway through which Ben led him before he departs, head hanging low.


	5. Glory and Gore Go Hand In Hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The time has come.
> 
> Fight for your name. Fight for your life. 
> 
> Survive or perish.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Violence! (Not too explicit)

“You’ve got a look on your face, lad.” The Sage addresses Ben with an amused look on his weathered face. Ben has never seen such deep lines on a face before. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen anyone so  _ old _ . 

“What look is that?” He asks, the impetuous nature of a young man leaving behind boyhood. He tosses his head, shaking his hair back from his face. His chest still heaves with the aftermath of the match - he’s managed to escape injury. Only just. Impossible to tell with the wash of blood that clings to his skin and dries in itching brown clumps. He’s gotten lucky, again.  Luck. Or perhaps… The Force? He has not gotten the opportunity to consider it. It is nearly outside the realm of his recollection. Training outside of the royal line is forbidden. He has to focus on what comes naturally, what is demanded of him on a daily basis. Combat. The brutal taking of lives for sport. 

It must be confidence, then. Or arrogance. A sure reading of his opponents. It is the only way he has managed to avoid loss of limb or life. He cannot avoid all, of course, his skin has become a roadmap of weaknesses in his defenses. Harsh lessons on where he must improve his technique, or the next time he is wounded in such places - it could well be his last. 

“The look of a _boy_ who is going to get himself killed.” The Sage retorts, unimpressed, clearly, by his youthful arrogance. He’s been winning, a lot. In the smaller heats, the smaller fights and brawls. It will do him well, in the lead up to the Grand tournament. Assuming he survives the Naming. Kylo’s already becoming a crowd favorite - he should be ripe for the patrons to begin considering him for contracting. Provided he doesn’t ruin it.  Ben scowls at him.

“I’m not a boy anymore, Sage. And I’m not getting killed. Clearly.” He snaps, swinging his blade. He’ll need to get it repaired. Or replaced. He’s lost a chunk out of it. The man who lay bleeding on the Pit floor had brought a blade breaker, catching his weapon in its teeth and had nearly snapped it in two. Ben had narrowly avoided losing an eye.

“You’re distracted. You search that crowd, every fight! And what is…?” The Sage makes a gesture with his hands.

Ben’s cheeks flush scarlet. The symbol. The sign. The weave of his long fingers. The points of his index fingers making the arch of an A and the cross of his middle fingers just below. An X.Armitage Hux.  His beacon, if Armitage is in the crowd… If he can see him - that he remembers him. He remains silent, staring past the Sage.

“Saluting the Emperor won’t gain you his favor, he hasn’t bet on you a single time.” The Sage continues, missing his mark. Ben looks smug.    


“That’s his loss. And I’m not saluting him.” His lips twist into a smirk.  The Sage’s brows lift in surprise. Certainly not a guard. Kylo would not be so stupid, he would hope, to fall for the likes of a thug in a fancy uniform. There is only one other that travels in the Emperor’s entourage. His son, then? He hadn’t… Considered that. 

“That will not serve you well, Kylo. Believe me when I advise you. Cease this behavior. A new fighter courting only a single patron sends a poor message. You won’t get many sponsors if you only appeal to one. Even if that one stands to be wealthy.” He looks genuinely concerned. A notion that Kylo brushes off with the roll of his eyes.

It’s not wealth, he tells himself. It’s more than that. That young man with flame for hair is the only person in that crowd that cares whether he lives or dies. His only friend. His only connection to the world outside of this place!

“You don’t know what you’re talking about!” He snaps, defensively. What would the sage know? Of the way his heart trills when they are able to cross paths, no matter how brief. Even if it is in passing. A meeting of eyes over the crush of people rushing to collect their winnings? 

The Sage stares at him, incredulous. Something far worse than simple credit-hounding, then…

“Listen to me, Kylo! You will only get yourself killed! Whatever… Fancy you have in your head, put it out!” He shakes his shoulders, earning him a murderous glare from the young man. 

“Nothing that any of the crowd has to offer you is real! Don’t you understand? You will DIE here, Kylo. They come to make a profit on your living as much as your dying!” He shakes his head, releasing his already broadening shoulders with a sigh. 

Kylo makes a sound of dismissal. That’s… Not true, he thinks, stubbornly. 

“Get out of my way. I have more training to do.” He grunts, shoving past the old man. It’s the only other thing he has, down here… Other than to look forward to his next fight, to see if Armitage is in the crowd...

 

~

 

Brendol is amazed at his son’s interest. At first Armitage thinks Brendol is delighted by his son's apparent thirst to watch blood he spilled but it is apparent that this is not the correct line of reasoning. 

At first, Armitage winces. He covers his eyes... he looks away...  They both know how Brendol hates him to look away. It only encourages Brendol to keep bringing his son to the fights and he is shocked when Armitage doesn't refuse or protest, but seems... excited. Eager.

Then the young nameless fighter with dark hair surfaces and suddenly Armitage is automatically on his feet each time he appears… and sure enough, he does appear more and more frequently. It doesn't take much to realise Armitage has a motive. A favourite. A danger, considering his father's close observations that he ought to be aware of.

Armitage's heart stutters. From so far down, with every fight, in which he appears, Armitage is sure he can't be imagining it; that Ben’s eyes… Kylo’s eyes… His eyes like the coal that would ignite flames, are set on him. Then it is only confirmed by his symbol. Armitage doesn't understand it, at first, until he finally sees: A… and X…

He sees! He sees!! it all seems ridiculous: that one minute Armitage smiles at him, he wears that wide, confident grin, and the next minute, he is fighting to live. The next minute, Armitage doesn't think he can stand it… he can't take it… he cries aloud at every swipe of every weapon. He feels every strike. His eyes watering at the sight.

Only for it to finish with another smile. A symbol. Those dangerous, cocky, dark eyes, locked on his own. Beautiful… and brave. Armitage is bewitched. A little more each time. Terrified, but bewitched all the same. Fighters work the crowds… but Ben, Kylo, is a special case. He is fierce. Fast becoming strong, even so young. Armitage is almost comically disinterested, until his eye is fixed on Ben. Then he begs, pleads. He doesn't know what he shall do, should he witness this figure, this bright light, this one soul he knows… perish.

 

~

 

He shouldn't be nervous. He's been waiting for this day. Half a decade in preparation and he stands across from Fyren. A man with hair of burnished gold. A tower. Finely built and honed for destruction. Ben fears and admires him. He has been watching him fight for years, he is formidable. A champion.

Yet he knows what is on the line. He is sad that he will have to take his life....

He exhales, switching his weight from side to side, bouncing on the balls of his feet. He can hear the crowd already screaming for Fyren - the man who needs no introduction. The Naming tournaments always draw crowds. Thirsty for blood. They’re usually more violent. Desperate unnamed fighters, frightened…  Intimidated. Ben can afford to be neither of these things. He waits to hear his own announcement….

"And entering the Pit on the left....... Fighting for his NAME!!! For his RIGHT!!!! FOR HIS LIIIIII-IIIIIIFE!!!!! !!" The voice booms across the arena - the crowd is more full of boos and jeers than they are of encouragement. 

He strides out, confidently, nonetheless. His hands lifted. A. X. eyes scanning the crowd briefly as he spins in a slow circle. Ben understands the crowd’s contempt. Compared to the specimen before him... He is nearly as tall but still, he is not fully a man, he has more to grow. To bulk out. In comparison to Fyren, he still looks like a boy. Though he has amassed physical strength, he looks wiry. Still too much limb... He hasn't had the fullness of time to grow into his own frame.

He wears half of his hair pulled back where Fyren's hair is cropped short and tight. Ben has done so deliberately. Most fighters are shorn near to balding - expecting someone to grab their hair, to use it as a handle... a grip. Ben counts on it to lure them in... He has few tricks up his slee- he nearly snorts, he hasn't got any sleeves...

"NEW BLOOD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" The announcer howls and the crowd goes wild, erupting in screams and cheers. They hope he will die. Bloody. The bloodier, the better. Blood flowing like credits into their greedy accounts, feeding on this loss of life with ravenous delight. If he had any choice about it, he would have been disgusted. But this is it. This is all there is.

Down on the floor, in the packed dirt that has been consecrated with the blood of the fallen a thousand times over.... It feels silent. The two warriors regard each other quietly.

"You ready, boy?" Fyren asks. Ben doesn't hear it... He doesn't recognize it... He will, one day, and he'll look back on this moment with a heart full of regret and understanding. In Fyren's voice is a weariness that Ben is too young to comprehend. A sadness that has not yet touched him. He still only sees these fights as survival, not for the tragedy that they are. He sees opponents, still. Not the waste of life. Not the fact that he’s put someone’s son, brother, father, lover into the dirt. Or worse. There is a willingness to die that Ben has not tasted because he has never starved for such a release.

"I am!" He calls back.

"BLOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

And then it has begun. Fyren is fierce, Ben can barely counter an attack - on his toes, rolling.... running... jumping... Evasion is his best hope against the mighty double handed axe that nearly cleaves his head from his shoulders. He has a singular advantage... He hopes! And that is he is younger. Lighter. Faster. It's dangerous. Even with  Fyren being in the twilight of his prime does not go easy. He knows what it as stake, too. Lives. His or the boy’s.

Survival is hardly an easy thing to dismiss. To let go of. They're thrown together and blood begins to flow. First Ben's - an announcement made to the entire arena much to his irritation. A moment of distraction that nearly costs him his life. And then Fyren's. It's a desperate thing! Ugly and brutal. It's lasting far longer than it should. They are better matched than anyone could guessed. The crowd screams - calling for blood... for death! Ben can't give in to their chant! He will earn his name for certain... He will not be forgotten! He will not be meat for the dogs and weaker children to fight over for a meal to fill their starving bellies! 

THEY WILL KNOW HIS NAME!!!

They're drenched in sweat, losing steam. Fyren faster than Ben expects, even after such a long fight. Ben who ducks and weaves now as graceful as a dancer. There's an elegance to his combat as much as there is a brutality. A spin, a twist and twirl of his weapon - a flick and he opens a new red line on Fyren's flesh. It's close… But not close enough to stop him. Fyren is at last on the defensive...

A movement of white in the backdrop of flame and shifting shadows of grimy faces and nobles alike. He glances upward - seeing for a moment a glimmer of red hair before he's thrown to the ground - his head is on fire. Cracked like an egg. He groans, rolling to the side just in time as now the sharp side of the axe arcs for his head to finish what the blunt side has not. His head rings like a bell that has been struck - disoriented he stumbles back...

Now is not the time to think of ghosts or angels! He must get to his feet or the next swing will split his face and drag his head away from his body! His vision is blurry, gone in one eye as something thick runs down his face. 

He sees it. A small window. A tiny latch. A hole in Fyren's defense. It's desperate but a focused attack - he throws his blade as he drops - the scream of steelsong as Fyren's axe sails over his head, a lock of his hair falls to the ground but he doesn't notice. Not with his hand still extended... Just a push! A small one... A movement that is imperceptible - or so he hopes! It finds it way under Fyren's arm just as he twists away, about to prepare his second blow.

There is an unholy howl, a bellow of pain. He's struck something vital but he doesn't know what... He never joined the others when their morbid curiosities compelled them to take apart the bodies of the fallen. Fyren collapses to his knees, the axe falling free of his hands.

Ben moves in, swiftly catching his form. Already his eyes have begun to cloud. He reaches for Ben's face - a row of bloody fingerprints on his cheeks. He whispers something. Something Ben can't hear over the roar of the crowd or the scream of the announcer. His face will haunt him. A calmness, a resignation. He feels it. At least he thinks he does, hanging in the air around him.

Every pair of eyes in the Colosseum is on him. He knows this... He cannot let himself be seen as soft. He steps back, letting Fyren's body fall to the dirt, his blood joining thousand and thousands of other. A stain. That is all that will be left of him. And… What he, Kylo… Ben… Takes of him, now.

The announcer has come, speaking to him. His head still rings and he blinks at him slowly, trying to comprehend.... the name....?  THE NAME OF THE VICTOR!

"Kylo! Kylo Ren!" He manages to shout, staring wide eyed up into the crowd, searching for that swathe of white. It's hard to focus, hard to make out anything - everyone is standing and yelling, waving their arms! Jubilation and anger in equal parts! A brawl breaks out amongst the punters.... Gamblers who feel cheated... Bookies come through, collecting new bets - he knows his name will now be placed on a roster... A charter.... People will come... They're going to ask for him - to place bets on.... on him! Officially! His contract will be put for sale if he makes it to the Grand Tournament! 

He feels light headed, swaying on his feet.

The battlemaids come to his side, he barely sees their lithe forms, nearly bared for all to see as they guide him out of the Ring and to where there already forms a line of interested parties - people who will fight amongst the Pit owner’s for right of patronage. 

He's sat down on a stool, given a canteen of water that he desperately sucks on, drawing water between his bleeding lips. Now that the fight has stopped, he realizes just how many hits he had actually taken. He’s a mass of pain and swelling, bruises and cuts.

 

~

 

Armitage leans back in his seat, squinting down at the men below, around four inches in height from where he watches them. Of course, he and Brendol are granted the best seats in the arena; at the very centre, but not low enough to have to suffer the hordes of drunks and howling supporters, nor the risk of any kind of blood splatter, a thrown limb or even weapon, despite the high gating surrounding and entrapping the warriors.

Brendol sits with his usual drink for these kinds of events, half in conversation with an officer who has come to watch such an event with them. Armitage knows Fyren will be coming up soon. Brendol has been sure to place a bet on him as he appears from the right. Armitage wonders almost idly who the new blood that the announcer exclaims will be facing him will be, though he imagines any other boy like him, having lived their childhood at least, only for it soon to be cut short. He almost wishes Brendol could let him drink, simply so he could focus on it instead of watching someone get hacked to pieces. He is granted, at request, some water instead, taking a sip, he finally surveys the left below.

A slender teen with dark hair is facing Fyren. Familiar. Strangely... Armitage stills. The almost water spills from his lips. He knows why! Its... It's BEN! He stands from the seat. He thinks he can feel Brendol's eyes on him, but if his father speaks, he doesn't even hear it, especially with the deafening jeers and screams that penetrate his ears. His heart is caught in his chest. He watches... his breaths quickening. He can hear his pulse now, even over the noise, thudding in his ears.

Ben is quick and agile. Armitage's teeth are on edge- watching him narrowly avoid a monstrous double-bladed axe. He can't move! His eyes are wide, he gasps as blood is drawn... trying not to show too much in his expression. He still feels as if he's still being watched. His hands make fists as his brow knits together in fear. He can't…!

The crowd call out for death. Horrendously barbaric, it appears so much more so for Armitage now that he can see a life in the balance whom he personally knows. Ben continues to move fast around him, but even from where Armitage stands, he can see the blood. He lifts a hand to his lips only to lower it again.

"Yes... Ben..." he whispers as he watches him seem to gain back control. Then it turns into a battlecry: "BEN!" Armitage screams, though his voice was surely lost to the raucous crowd.

Yet...

Ben seems to look... directly at him. Armitage's breath hitches.

Fyren is behind him...

"NO!" Armitage tries to shriek, but it's too late.

He has collapsed from the blunt hit of the axe. Armitage can't watch, yet he can't pull his eyes away. His muscles are rigid as he stays standing. Still unable to move. The weapon almost slices his brains in two. Armitage's eyes water at the spill of blood over Ben's head, over his face, visible from all the distance between them.

"Ben..." Armitage whispers, knowing truly, that he won't be heard this time. He lifts his eyes to the dome. "Please..." he prays, though he does not believe that eyes watch them or an ear listens.

No sooner had he drawn his eyes away that it is over so quickly. Ben has dropped to the ground, his blade soaring through the air. The crowd has let out an almighty bellow. Armitage suddenly can't see. He strains on his tiptoes. Did the blade hit?! Does Ben LIVE?! He's horrified! Too small to see-!

THE NAME OF THE VICTOR......

Armitage's eyes are wide. So... so... Fyren hasn't...?

Kylo..... Kylo Ren!

Armitage breaks into a smile. He... he did it. He swallows back the tears in his eyes, throwing his arms above his head in jubilation with half of the crowd. Brendol shoots a small scowl at him. Armitage lowers his arms, -realising too late that he has expressed too much joy for a bet that Brendol has lost. Still, his father looks at him in a way he doesn't recognise. Perhaps it is... actual... interest?

Armitage doesn't care. He sits back down, breathless.

 

~

 

There are more fights to follow. Kylo Ren is just one of many young fighters up to take a name or die trying. The Pit has erupted into a raucous party. Jubilation. Those who survive, and the established fighters not too jaded to take part in an excuse to raise a glass begin to convert the smaller pits to dancefloors. Drinking. Fucking. Fighting!  It’s chaos. Kylo Ren. Ren! He tries to find his way through the crowds, to search for Armitage but to no avail. He’s given something that comes in a tube. He drinks it and he begins to hurt less. The ache fades to the background.  

Soon he can barely walk straight - many hands clasp at him, he’s surprised he hasn’t met an unfortunate end. There is no way he can keep his guard up! His vision is swimming, his head is pounding. He finds himself shoved face down on some sort of seat? A table, maybe?  He hears a strange sound, one of the fighters covered in tattoos stands behind him, pulling at his clothes.  “Your name, fighter?”  He blinks. Everything feels too fast and too slow…

“Kylo Ren!” He mumbles, trying to get off the table. 

“Wren, huh?”

“Kylo Ren, yeah! Wh-what?! HEY!” His wrists are seized by two laughing fighters, like the heckling canines he used to fight. They pour more liquid down his throat but it’s not enough to stop the pain that ignites in his flesh - that horrible sound! He tries to look over his shoulder, to no avail. Other fighters have come, holding down his ankles while the fighter with the black gloves settles between his legs, arms braced on his bared rump, etching something into his skin.   It’s not long at all before he passes out - the cheering of his fellow fighters is the last thing he hears.

  
  



	6. Oh oh though we were wide awake, this is a dream state

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The years have passed.
> 
> They're no longer boys. 
> 
> The risk is greater as are the rewards.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings:
> 
> Implied and non-intense violence.
> 
> Nudity ;D

The press of bodies is thick - the cheering is so loud! He is momentarily deafened.

Kylo is almost crushed by the surging crowd, like floodwaters breaking the dam walls. They've come down, pouring through the hole in the fence. A hole that he made in the fight - deflecting a chainsaw that was aimed for his chest. 

They don't seem to care that they must pass through the curtain covered in blood! His eyes are searching, scanning for a sign of white, of that red hair! His heart is pounding so fast! He cannot feel his wounds, only the giddy rush of adrenaline and relief. He won.... He won!!! 

One-on-one is one thing. But a free-for-all brawl? The bodies of the fallen are trampled. Bodies what were quivering before, now crushed and still beneath the feet of the crowd - music explodes on the speakers and soon it is chaos. Patrons and fighters mix. Too many people for the space of the bloodied ring, it's hypnotic and absurdly bordering on disgusting - humid and close. Stifling.

He pushes his way through, glad that he stands taller than most - able to see a little better. He wants to find Armitage! He wants to share the jubilation! Outside the ring, the bookies and tender dealer are going crazy - cashing out bets. If Armitage bet on him... If he did, he hopes he did - they'll be rich! So rich! The coming weeks will bring the auction and he prays like hell that Armitage will buy his contract.

~

Another suspended breath, Armitage never stops feeling light headed, no matter how often he sees that giant grin on that warm face so far below. Still, the cheer of the crowd, the swarming, speaks for itself. He sighs, almost a laugh. A little ragged sigh of relief, but wary that his father still watches, his face now red and swelled with frustration like an overripe fruit. It is enough to give Armitage pride and rare, dangerous pleasure. He stands, looking down his nose.

"Well." Armitage exclaims as neutrally as he can over the raucous, chaotic cheers of the masses. "I'll be collecting my winnings then..."

He makes no effort to hide how smug he is, sliding past his father like a swift fox. Brendol's face contorts further, lines of scarlet rage deepening at his loss. He always bets against Kylo. He throws his giant fist down on the ledge in front of him, almost cracking the stone.

Armitage takes no notice. He walks proudly now, like a prince, parting the crowds... who are so dirty compared to the snowy white he wears. He will be rich indeed. Fifteen thousand worth and the credits are his own this time. Not Brendol's. Who still keeps him dependant, like a child!

Not anymore.

Armitage calls to collect, the transaction fixed. And then his eyes are drawn downwards. Kylo swallowed by the crowd. The bloodied field trampled into dust. Armitage's heart flutters, thinking of even the possibility that Ben could think of him, even as he is mobbed by supporters. Surely Ben would not think of him? Out of so many faces? Surely his mind is on another supporter, he must have so many!

Armitage would like to make it clear, to every one of these people very soon: Ben will be his... if... he will be his.

Armitage wishes he could part the crowds, could reach him, but even for an Emperor's son, it would prove difficult. He must give him his favor. He pulls the patterned scarf from his sleeve, the edges decorated in the finest silver, scented with his perfumes.

He won't be able to reach Ben from here but nevertheless, Armitage works his way down the stairs, closer and closer to the arena, luckily most avoiding his progress, until he leans forward over the balcony, his eyes searching... searching for his champion. His heart still throbbing from the terror... the violence... barbaric! So barbaric... and how bright Ben's smile is just... it will never fit.

There are too many!

Kylo begins to grow frustrated, now shoving his way through the crowd. Somehow it only seems to please them further! He cannot fathom how getting shoved or punched in the face by his own fists makes them more excited, as if wearing the marks of his hands is something they can brag about later. Maybe it is. Like an autograph marked into their skin. 

He sees, finally, a flap of white! Up in the bleachers! Armie! His face lights with delight, nearly stumbling over the woman who has thrown herself before him - ripping at her shirt and baring her breasts to him. Kylo glances down only long enough to note the position of her shoulders, to grab her arms and bodily swing her out of the way. His excitement mounts, Armitage is coming down the steps! 

Armitage’s eyes catch on the centre of the crowd. Ben's imposing figure, shirtless, struggling through fanatics... He watches a woman's breasts be thrust in his direction. Armitage rolls his eyes and swiftly averts them until he hears a clang, the metal gating... below him.

He leans forward and his eyes widen, shocked, as Ben climbs, so steeply! Nothing to stop his fall...

Kylo hopes he's made him rich, tonight. He hopes he has been allowed to place a bet. That all of his other fights and the winnings might have given him a solid deposit! He finally reaches the wall, leaping up to the mangled metal gating. He hooks his hands into it, pulling himself up. Without his shirt or armor - it makes for an impressive display. His muscles straining as he begins to haul himself up out of the Pit. Much to the delight of the revelers below.

Even with the smaller risks, Armitage tastes fear for him. His cheeks heat; Ben's charcoal eyes are locked on him! He gasps softly, trying to appear... disinterested. Likely failing. He has to bring a hand to his heart to stop it leaping! He feels so bewitched.

"Your highness...!" Ben breathes, almost panting. He drags himself up over the ledge and pushes through the ruined, mangled metal. He bows, suddenly aware of how dirty he is in comparison to the pristine sight before him. His pulse now speeds for another reason altogether.

He wants to help him. Ben will hurt himself! But too many eyes watch them. It's... it's not... like a prince to… Nevertheless, Armitage leans over, as far as he can. His arm and knowledge of the force will launch to help him if he slips. Ben is over the top in no time by himself and Armitage feels so small, in comparison to him. Armitage is porcelain where Ben must be steel or stronger. A precious, strong metal.

Armitage tries to breathe evenly. They couldn't look more different. The splatter of Ben's blood as well as his enemy's makes him ache with the terror he felt only minutes before. Armitage feels the delicate material of the scarf. Silk. Light. Pale.

"Rise..." Armitage tells him. Ben lifts his eyes a moment before he stands, a wide, toothy grin just for Armitage - the crowd savoring only his broad back and the Emperor's son looking so very sharp and severe.

Armitage outstretches his hand to Ben, the favor hanging in his fingers as an offering for him to take.

"My champion..." Armitage says more softly. Ben straightens - no longer the gangly child, or awkwardly proportioned teenager. Manhood has come for Ben, thickening his physique, broadening his chest, his shoulders. Built perfectly, it seems, for this combative lifestyle he leads.

Armitage gulps, knowing Brendol will hate it, but that's all the better...

Armitage takes Ben's hand, lifting it with his own to the crowd. Victory!

He takes the favor gingerly in his fingers, trying not to mark it overly much. Even now, he can scent the traces of Armitage's cologne upon it. His heart skips a beat. A moment before Armitage has taken his other hand, lifting it into the air. He turns at the motion - they face the crowd that erupts into a raucous chorus, chanting Kylo Ren and "For His Highness" in equal measure. Below, is chaos - kegs rolled out and tapped with servers flooding into the already crowded ring.

The chanting below them, they do not cheer for his father. This audience adores them both. Because Kylo wins. Always wins and it is their shared victory. The swarms begin to grow into a less coherent rumble. Searching for drink... savage… Ben turns towards Armitage slightly, licking his lower lip, catching it between his teeth for a moment as he studies him. 

"Did you enjoy the fight?" His voice is low, his pulse still thudding with nervous energy. Excitement. His chest rises and falls with a shallow sort of hurried pace. He... He glances down at the favor and then back up, grinning again. 

Armitage's eyes widen, his attention brought back to the dark figure at his side. The greatest warrior he's ever seen. He wouldn't confess it, but Ben puts him in awe. Terror for him and awe of what he can do.

Armitage notes his sweat. His heavy breathing. Armitage doesn't know what to reply. He... he hates seeing this... seeing Ben in danger but is aware of how overconfident both of them have become.

"You live and you stand and you breathe..." Armitage tells him, he is still caught in being regal, putting on a show of his own. He tries to shake it off. Offering Ben a small smile. 

"So long as that remains the same..." Armitage tells him lowly. "If you could not be harmed I would admire you endlessly." He confesses before his cheeks heat further. That sounds... is... it's not what he intended but it is true!

Ben chews his lip, waiting. His cheeks flush but he grins. He's aware of Armitage's eyes roving over him. It brings with it a flush of excitement. Those cool eyes are the only ones he searches for in the crowd. He might play up the other sponsors, the other patrons but...

"Then, for you, the next fight, I promise to shun the kiss of steel." He chuckles - though avoiding injury is not always the easiest task. Ben's grin is a flame, melting the ice Armitage as encased himself in. Armitage softens at his chuckle, he smiles in return but it doesn't reach his eyes. He's afraid. He's afraid every day and watching is the worst part: his heart in his mouth, thinking each time it might be the last... He can hardly bear it.

"May I buy you a drink?" Ben asks, feeling already intoxicated. He wouldn't go down to the Pit now unless he was ordered to. He has little doubt that there will be more death but none that is intentional. Drunken partiers will no doubt make a few erroneous gestures. But there are other places to obtain a drink in the Pit’s grounds. 

Armitage ought to mingle as best he can. It rarely occurs. Appearances, he knows, is everything, yet he can't care less when he talks with Ben. 

"Funny," Armitage says with a smile, "I was about to ask you the same... since you bought me fifteen thousand credits..."

Ben's eyes widen.

"Frak me!" He breathes. "Well..." He grabs his hand, leading him up the stairs. "To the winner's lounge, then!"

Armitage smirks at his excitement. Cunning and pleased with himself! Ben's hand takes his own and Armitage's breath hitches, yet he leads them upwards. Armitage should have known: the winner's lounge. He cannot help but be relieved. His father is like those people down there; they are crude, often cruel. What a strange place the winner's lounge must be. He finds himself curious. He lets Ben lead him.

Admittedly, Ben's ever only really walked past the winner's lounge. Usually it's reserved for those who purchase fighters or bet big and often. But, tonight, he makes a gamble. Who would refuse him? Leading Armitage, he strides as if he's meant to be here. Meant to go inside. It was the biggest tournament brawl of the year, after all...

As soon as they push inside the glossy black door they are halted immediately.

Armitage's eyes have to adjust for a moment to the refined dim lighting. He scans the surrounds. More or less what he expected: portraits, candles, curtains... Thank goodness it's so much quieter here. 

A woman, dressed in a fitted suit of sorts addresses Kylo first with a scowl before realizing who is in tow. She bows, upon rising, she snaps her fingers. Armitage doesn't miss the glare she gives Ben but glad she knows the proper respect for her prince. He doesn't feel like asserting authority more than he has at the game. This is time to relax and be joyous for another victory, since both of them are likely so rarely joyous.

Six people move out of the shadows - the room is lit dimly. Intimate, massive candle sticks covered in dripping wax. Thick red velvet curtains hang over the walls - portraits of past victors and their patrons. Ben's eyes are wide as he peers around the room - booths, some with curtains, some without...

"Good evening, your highness." The woman greets, "I am Kiery. Would you like a host or hostess this evening?" Up on the wall behind the bar is a leaderboard, names, winnings. Armitage's name is at the top, dashed next to it is Kylo Ren. Armitage finally drops Ben's hand. He notices the board, following Ben's line of sight. It's not a surprise but still a happy fact that the two of them are at the top.

"Good evening." Armitage returns cooly.

"Sometimes, they charge." Kylo whispers in his ear, moving to step behind him, more as a guard now than an eager young man showing his only friend to a more civilised bar. Even the public bar below will be chaos. Armitage nods subtly and he feels Ben behind him. Somehow it sends a chill down his spine. Knowing Ben's form, as wondrously sculpted as that of a god's, filled with all the warmth of a star, yet tainted with the blood of a fight, is right behind him...

As for why they charge for services, it becomes clear - a man in a corner booth exclaims loudly, there's a smack on the table shortly after as he draws one of the hostesses from beneath the table, she's wiping her mouth and both of their cheeks are flushed. Armitage follows the sound of the stranger's exclamation at the table. His nose wrinkles slightly, and then he looks away.

"They can offer table services. Drink delivery, massage, entertainment of varying kinds..." Kiery offers as clarification - knowing all the clients who pass through these doors very well. She shrewdly eyes Kylo. Service and entertainment indeed! 

"Or perhaps a freshen up?" She almost growls at Kylo, he should know better! He’d not be permitted to sit in here with blood and who knows what else on him! Armitage doesn't miss how sharply she addresses Ben. He steps, almost as if to separate her from him.

"We can have a drink delivered to your booth." She says, with a manufactured smile to Armitage.

Two faced...

"Send your best red wine there, a host won't be necessary." Armitage adds quickly. "Should my champion's current state give you some discomfort, send the soap and water bowl to me, he can address himself." Armitage's tone is far harsher than the one he uses for Ben. Kiery bristles a little at his sharp tone, eyes narrowing at Kylo. Blood and guts! In the lounge!

"Now ask what my champion would like to drink." Armitage orders her unable to keep his eyes from narrowing almost unnoticeably from how she addressed his... his only friend, "and have that provided at the booth, too."

A man approaches them, straight backed and impeccably dressed. Waves of dark hair, eyes dark and brown like Ben's but... Empty and cool. He stands not too far behind Kiery, his hands clasped calmly behind his back, listening to the exchange. His lips quirk with amusement.

Ah, youth!

"Very well, your highness. Please accompany..." She turns to the side, to select one of the men when she spots the gentleman behind them. She pales slightly, eyes wide.

"Thank you, Kiery - please collect the wine and..." He looks at Ben, eyes narrowing slightly in the effort to recall... "Fire whiskey. Right, Kylo?"

Ben is completely still until the man steps forward. Then he finds himself swallowing hard, moving to step subtly in front of Armitage, at least to put a shoulder in front of him, ready to move. Armitage's eyes catch on a figure. He could almost be called handsome if he didn't look so much like a bird of prey. Armitage doesn't like the look in his eyes. How those eyes linger on him and Ben. As if there's something he knows. Armitage can't define it. Only that it makes him somehow uncomfortable. There's only one reason Armitage can think of, as to why, and it does nothing to reassure him.

"Harj... This is Ar-" Ben begins.

"I'm well aware." He smiles at Armitage, offering a bow as Kiery rushes off to start organizing the drinks and the other request. Something tells Armitage that's not the only thing about Armitage he's aware of. So... this... is Harj? The real Harj? He's always been so hidden. A mystery...

The hosts and hostesses move back to their space. Ben feels sorry for them. Ones that came in and were too pretty to throw to the dogs. Used for far more than combat. He shudders, thanking the stars he had been an awkward child composed of mismatched features instead of some beautiful creature.

"Welcome to the Winner's Lounge. Congratulations on your victory." He moves them away from the door, showing them to a booth in the corner, equipped with heavy curtains, should they wish for privacy. Armitage follows, a little dazed. He is relieved to see the curtains. He should very much like to be unwatched...

"Thank you." Armitage finally answers him, curtly.

"A second generation of the Hux line..." Harj sweeps his arm to the booth. "It seems the prestige of picking the winner has now fallen to you. Please, if the staff can make your evening more pleasant, do not hesitate to ask."

Armitage look back to his face. Something in his tone… He moves to the booth, giving Harj a small nod.

"I won't." Armitage answers. A confident tilt to his head before he comes to take his seat. Harj offers Armitage one last cool smile, turning to Kylo, a hand on his shoulder. With his back turned to Armitage, it is only Ben who gets to see the look of warning on his face. An unspoken threat.

Ben nods, lowering his eyes until Harj moves away. Kiery and one of the other staff members arrive, the drinks on the table and the means for Ben to wash himself. They leave as Ben slips into the booth. Armitage lets out a sigh, the tension from his body flowing off as that man leaves and Ben returns to him. Ben glances at Armitage and then pulls the curtains closed - guessing the prince may prefer some privacy.

There is plenty of room. The ample booth seating, a reasonably sturdy table and space between it and the curtain. Ben begins to shed his attire, thinking nothing of it. He can't even remember the last time he'd been able to bathe on his own where he hasn't had eyes to watch him. Armitage blinks and tries to avoid looking as Ben sheds his attire completely. Different rules, Armitage supposes. As the Emperor's son, he must be well covered. 

Ben's wounds make Armitage wince. He moves closer to the edge of the seat, as if to help him... but doesn't, yet.

Ben is used to the squabble, the fight to get to the faucets in the large cement room. Drains in the floor. Nothing to provide privacy - the entire shower block is recorded and monitored with video surveillance. Lest there is violence that has not been paid for. A severely punishable offence. He notices Armitage's wince and shakes his head.

"It's fine. They're not so bad." He grins widely, lifting his hand to Armitage's. He guides it up to a slice across his pectoral muscle, pressing his fingertips to it. Armitage lets his hand be taken, his eyes are wide as Ben draws his fingers close to his chest, to one of his wounds. Hot and seeping. Armitage closes his eyes. It's so deep. Ben presses his fingertips there and Armitage wants to pull away, doesn't want to hurt him. His closed eyelids prevent tears swelling.

"See?" He prods Armie's fingertip against it, in spite of the soft stinging sensation it makes, he still is grinning. He opens his eyes to see Ben's grin. He can't bring himself to smile, except for in his eyes. Ben's fine form... He treats fighting for his life like a meadow walk. Armitage supposes Ben can't afford to think of it in such a way... but Armitage does. The wet of Ben's blood glistens in the low light.

"So, what are you going to buy? Tell me everything!" Ben pleas as he shoves his gear to the side, picking up the cloth and dipping it into the hot water with a soft hiss as it touches raw points on his knuckles. His pain looks so much more real now he's closer. 

Ben doesn't get to buy much of anything. He’s not even sure what CAN be bought! Aside from people. He's only grown more curious about the outside world since their visits have become more frequent.

What will he buy? it's a good question. Mostly he just wants to become independent from his father. Or replace his attire, so many of his rich clothes have been ruined by blood drawn by Brendol. A waste… Armitage lowers his eyes. He ought to tell Ben something more exciting.

"Perhaps..." Armitage says softly, his eyes glazed, "I can use the money for a balcony. To my window." He hates it when he's locked inside his bedroom. The flat planes of windows keeping him inside.

"A balcony?" Ben blinks. 

"I can hire someone to build it." Armitage thinks aloud. Does... Ben know what a balcony is? He must, surely. Yet he has been kept down there. Down in hell...

"And then I can come to it..." Armitage continues wistfully, "and I can see the stars." His father won't stop him. He speaks of stars while Ben hastily tries to clear the blood from his skin. He hasn't seen the stars in years…

He turns his attention back to Ben.

"Of course..." Armitage adds "I'm also saving." He smiles.

"I hope you know I want your contract." Armitage admits outright. 

Ben glances up at him, seeing his smile. His lips part in surprise and then his lips curve into a wide, genuine smile of his own. His washcloth discarded, forgotten in the moment.

"Armitage!" He exclaims, excited. Grateful! "Gods... That'd be... I'd..." He tries to picture it! He knows there's a lot of competition. But…

"I'll make it up to you!" He assures. Armitage's smile grows wider as he observes Ben... lovely Ben…

"Ben, it's alright." Armitage tries to convince him. He can't possibly hope to repay... Armitage is a prince, after all.

"I'll... I'll make sure that you get back whatever you bid!” 

"Ben..." Armitage's eyes are loving and knowing as he observes him.

“And... And then some!" He reaches across to collect his glass of whiskey and Armitage's glass of wine, handing it to him. Their fingers brushing. The candlelight illuminates Armitage in a warm glow. Lovely shading to the sharpness of his features, a heat bringing a pink stain to his cheeks. Coincidence to their proximity and the touch of their skin? Ben doesn't know, soon the moment has passed. On to more exciting prospects.

Armitage is given his glass and he laughs softly. Ben's enthusiasm is catching.

"To victory!" Ben declares. He's too excited. Most importantly, it means there would be reasons to see each other more often! Life is less dreary whenever he spots the white of Armitage’s clothes, the red flag of his hair.

Armitage nods, lifting his glass.

"To victory..." he repeats.

Ben grins, taking a healthy pull from the glass. Armitage sips his wine, he smiles, watching Ben drink. Full of vibrancy. Strength in all ways. The spice and heat of the alcohol hits Ben. It burns straight down into his chest, filling him with even more warmth. He shivers, tossing his hair as he collects the cloth once more, swiping a trail of red from his chest.

"Did I get it all?" He asks, looking down at himself - he doesn't want to slip on the dark robe that was brought to the table before he's rid himself of the blood of the fallen even ift a couple of his wounds still well with blood trying to make a clot, at least it’s a start. He turns to the side so Armitage can look him over.

Armitage's cheeks remain hot. He tries not to... for his eyes not to catch between Ben's long, majestic legs. He sees then, now he's closer, near to Ben's hip, a dark, winged shape in ink.

He tries not to fixate on it. He swallows, trying not to stare… Ben watches him, once again knowing that Armitage's eyes are roaming over him. He suddenly is acutely aware that he is completely bare. He clears his throat quietly as Armitage rises from the booth, coming around Ben's form, observing him. He comes to his back. Reaching for the cloth… 

When did he get the tattoo? Has Armitage not noticed it for many months? Or just... a couple of days? He supposes it must be hidden when he’s in combat, covered by trousers and armor. He rinses the cloth before coming to between his shoulder blades.

"It will sting..." Armitage whispers, still concerned. Ben tenses, flexing the muscles in his back.

"Ready..." He murmurs quietly. He feels the gentle touch of the wet cloth against his skin. He makes an appreciative sound, his head tilting forward. Armitage smooths the cloth tenderly along Ben's skin. Picking up the dirt, rinsing again and then gently dabbing the blood... running the material near to his shoulders. So broad... they shine...

"A wren...?" Armitage dares to mention in a whisper.

Ben chuckles sheepishly. He had hoped it would have been something formidable, but when he had awoken the following afternoon with not only the head throbbing ache of a hangover, it had been too late. His skin had been marked with a small, delicate bird.

"Never get drunk after a Naming Tournament." He looks over his shoulder at Armitage. 

"Do you like it? Your champion... Kylo ‘Wren’?" He grins.

Armitage smiles at his words. A small snort at the knowledge he was drunk... and now this little bird has joined the landscape of his form, which Armitage cleanses carefully.

"It's..."

Beautiful… He resists saying beautiful.

"It suits you." Armitage answers playfully. "I..." he swallows again. "I like it very much." Armitage adds, clearing his throat.

Ben's cheeks flush with pleasure at the compliment, or perhaps it is knowing that Armitage is pleased. He feels less self conscious about it in any case.

"Then, you may look at it any time you please." He turns back, his blush growing more heated at his own boldness, allowing Armitage to finish, deeply appreciative. He'll never grow used to the itching sensation of drying gore on his skin and the hot water feels so heavenly on his sore muscles

Armitage has cleaned the last remains of gore away but he doesn't want to move away. He wants to touch… His hand laces Ben's skin…

"We never get hot water..." He says softly, the warmth feels amazing. He feels the touch of skin against his. Armitage's fingers across the flesh of his shoulders and Ben's own cheeks heat. His ears stained, even, as his breath hitches. His touch is so wondrously soft and gentle. Ben can't remember what anything other than violence feels like.

Ben's sound of appreciation... the moment is somehow sacred. His heart aches when Ben tells him there's no hot water. The conditions are unlike anything Armitage could think of, though Armitage is a prince. He has everything. He is so lucky to live in luxury, it just won't stop him feeling so much like a doll in a doll's house. Figurehead, a pretty face, yet ridiculed. Worthless...

Then Armitage clears his throat. The cloth is dropped.

"All done." Armitage tells him gently.

Ben feels somewhat sorrowful for having heard his announcement. He turns slightly to look at Armitage over his shoulder. A grin. Armitage finds his breath hitching.

"Thank you." He collects the robe from the table and slips it on over his shoulders, belting it at the waist before moving to sit down. Armitage hopes his skin won't be too dry. He sits down with Ben.

"How have you been? You were away for a couple weeks." He doesn't mean to sound quite so clingy, but.... He's the one thing that Ben looks forward to.

Armitage lowers his face. He should have been here, though it isn't a place for him, Ben is here. 

Still, hope has come. Armitage has been gaining more influence. Almost as famous as his father... he knows Brendol hates it. He grows more and more paranoid everyday. Armitage is supervised so often. It isn't all fear and darkness, Armitage has been learning more and more of his sciences. Ben's expression transforms to one of concern. Except that Armitage’s lips curve in another small smile. 

"I'm..." not happy... but... "I've been alright." He tells Ben softly. "When I'm not asked to attend my f... the emperor's meetings," Armitage corrects, "I confess you might find me buried in my science books..." his smile grows wider, but his eyes hold a sadness. Ben leans against the table, his chin cradled in his palm as he watches, listens. Rapt. 

He watches the lowering of Ben's brow as he has lowered his face. He notes how Ben's eyes light when Armitage speaks. Is he so... charming for others? Or just… He must be charming with others. To survive but now his fate appears to be in Armitage's hands. And he is sure that joy, that grin Ben had on his face when Armitage said he'd buy the contract must be... it must be real.

"The life of an heir is likely most uneventful compared to that of a gladiator."

Ben scoffs, leaning back in the seat as far as he's able, stretching his long legs under the table. Too long to be bent according to the chair. He takes another sip. There isn’t much to do. He can read - but the only material available is... the leaderboard, really. 

"It's not that exciting." He says quietly. "The best days are when I can see you." He grins. Armitage's lips part. His cheeks reddening further. That grin again!

"Everything else is just training and killing and trying not to die." There are other activities he could partake in, he supposes - but none of his fellow fighters hold much interest for him. He doesn't want to... to... fuck what he'll have to one day kill. He tries not to think of such things. Not when he has such lovely company. He can't help himself. He can't help but watch Armitage, bordering on staring. He's... He's so... Fine! No face in the crowd, no face in the Pit.... None of them compare to Armitage.

An angel.

Armitage swallows. His face lowering again. He mustn't let those emotions brim. He wants to promise Ben, he won't die, he'll be okay, he has to be! But Armitage doesn't know that. It could be any day. One minute there and then… 

No! Armitage won't let him go... and it won't! It won't happen!

Armitage has only grown more... Resplendent. Ben watches him, the trail of emotion across his feature, how he lowers his head. He doesn't understand what he appears to be so afraid of. Life is so brutal and cheap. So short. One must make the most of it while it persists.

He supposes that could be it. Emperors and heirs are intended to live forever and the idea of a short life is alien and frightening to him.

"Years ago..." Armitage begins in a low voice, his hand reaching to take Ben's. He laces his fingers with Armitage's offered fingertips. He stares down at them in wonder. Long, slender... So delicate in comparison to his own. Thick. Massive.

"I made a promise." Armitage tries to meet Ben's eyes. "I promised I'd help you." He tries to keep his breaths even. "I will." Armitage tells him sincerely. His hand gives Ben's a small squeeze and Ben looks up to his face.

"You'll stay by my side. You'll see the sun and the stars... you'll have hot water..."

Ben's lips part. He blinks at him. Stunned.

"A-armitage..." If he can... It seems too wonderful to be true! But he can hope. It will be lovely while it lasts, if it can even be. But one day, he'll be older. Slower... He'll fall on the floor and the next young fighter in his prime will take a part of his name and carry on. Ben shakes his head softly.

Armitage's features are gentle as he observes Ben's reaction. He certainly seems pleased... stunned, but... is it what he wants? He's certainly seemed to want it. What does he think? Armitage watches him shake his head. Wonder? Or... or will he? He can't refuse! Surely... Armitage won't know what to do if he refuses!

"I don't..." He strokes Armitage's hand with his thumb absently admiring his pale skin.The kindness with which Ben strokes his hand is unlike anything Armitage has known. His heart flutters. He waits, suspended, for Ben's answer. 

"I'd like that... With you." He says finally, not entirely sure what he means to articulate when so many thoughts collide at once. Armitage breathes. A small nod.

"You'll have it." Armitage promises, no doubt in his voice. He sounds so sure! Ben grins at him. His happiness is the breaking of dawn. The shine of the sun.

"Then... I suppose you ought to get comfortable being a wealthy man!" he leans forward, eyes locked on Armitage's...

"Because I'll win every fight. For you." his voice grows softer. He's so close now... Armitage's eyes are even more enchanting close up. Armitage laughs softly like a child, but is silenced by the intensity of Ben's earthy eyes. Armitage's laughter... There's nothing else like it, Ben decides. It's not hideous, or false. Sweeter than any music that is played, softer, too. Armitage forgets for a moment what breathing is. Ben's face an inch from his. 

"Especially if you come visit me after the fights." he likes this... Privacy. Talking. Real conversation! Not just about slaughter techniques or bets and weapons and armor!

Armitage struggles to find how to speak again. His eyes are orbs, lost in Ben's. They seem to swallow him. Their eyes searching each other. Ben wonders what Armitage sees - a friend? A dream? As he sees when he looks at those lovely pale shards of sky? Or just a prized stud in a farmyard? He honestly couldn't blame him if it's the latter. He's reached the peak of his potential. And much like a stud, he's only got worth and life so long as he can perform.

Still, he hopes it is the former.

Armitage nods carefully.

"I... I will." He finally stammers out. "I'd... Love to..."

Ben grins, settling back in the booth. Somehow it is too soon.

"Excellent!" His stomach growls loudly and he laughs nervously. Ben laughs and Armitage's cheeks continue to be warmed.

"Uh... Want me to order something to eat?" He's famished. Now that he's beginning to settle... The needs of his body are becoming known. Soreness seeping into his limbs, gnawing hunger… Armitage can't stop a smile at Ben's growling stomach. 

Armitage nods.

"I'll pay for whatever you desire..." Armitage offers.

"Nonsense! We won't have your balcony compromised on account of my appetite!" He scoots to the edge of the seat, practically laying down as he reaches his long arm for the edge of the curtain. He pulls it aside. Kiery, keeping a watchful eye over the lounge comes over.

"What is it?" She pulls the curtain aside a little more, looking down at Ben. He knows what she sees, it's written all over her face. An animal. Something that shouldn't be in here. Just more meat for the dogs. It's her again, Armitage hears her voice. How she snaps at him! Armitage almost snorts at her... She ought to show this champion respect! 

"We're hungry." Ben states, sitting up, his playfulness now abandoned as he tries to be a little more respectable.

"Can we please... Get..." He's at a loss. He realizes he doesn't know what outsiders eat... What CAN be ordered? He hardly wants to order gruel and protein cakes. She raises her brows expectantly. Armitage is quick to note Ben's hesitation... His ears stained pink with embarrassment....  
...

"What, Kylo?" She demands a little more snippily.

"More drinks, for starters..." He tries to buy himself time.

Oh...

He doesn't know, Armitage realises. He's hardly been served palace meals. Hardly been served at all! If ever! Armitage feels his own embarrassment. His knowledge... Ben will need his strength, so, if he isn't put off meat from the fighting...

"Keiry." Hux states with as much distaste as she had pronounced Kylo's name, coming nearer to see her. His nose turned up at her. Ben sinks into the chair a little, looking quite admonished. His eyes light as Armitage addresses her. She turns her attention to the Emperor's son and nods, pulling out her data pad to begin assigning an order to the table.

"Refill our glasses." He demands, "Fetch my champion a grilled flank steak with radish and peppercorn and get myself some scallops with a coconut, coriander and apple salad." He doesn't bother saying please. His eyes sharp. Ben blinks over at Armitage. He’s so fascinating! And what he orders, it sounds... Expensive. And delicious. Foreign to what he knows. His mouth works soundlessly for a moment and then he swallows.

"Yes, of course, your highness. Will that be all?" She is happy to deal with Armitage. It's not quite so... Distasteful as Kylo's presence. He's a -corpse-. Maybe not yet, but he will be. The culture in the Pit is a strange one. Yet it is what it is. One would not drag a cadaver into a restaurant nor would they sit and converse with it! Armitage dismisses her, swiftly. She moves away, organising drinks to be brought over and confirming with the kitchens. 

He sneers until she disappears and he comes back, away from the curtain, turning to face his only, dear, friend. He watches those lips work... Like... Petals… What a stupid thought! What is Armitage doing?! He shakes away the thought. Armitage softens. His sneer disappeared so fast as he turned to Ben...

"Thank you...." Ben says quietly, ashamed of his lack of... Everything, really. No wonder the fighters are never allowed to leave! They're simply unfit to integrate into civilised society.

"It's... Quite alright." Armitage replies softly. There's no need for him to be embarrassed. Armitage should be the shamed one: he's the one feasting on the finest dishes while others starve.

"I'm, uh... I'm used to a little simpler fare. I... Didn't think of that." He tries to grin. Armitage should NEVER have to eat the nutrition blocks or otherwise tasteless, functional food they're allowed to fight for.

"That's not your fault..." Armitage tells him softly, his hand reaches again for Ben's before he can think... Ben doesn't hesitate to take it, playfully tugging him back down to the seats, realizing only a moment before he has - that he was about to pull him into his lap. Armitage almost stumbles and falls... On top of Ben! Landing narrowly on the seats, his expression still wide with surprise at the thought. Ben's cheeks are a blossoming red… He flushes, scooting to the side so there is a little more space for him. 

"The look on her face!" He snickers, lifting his glass to finish the remainder of his whiskey. Armitage mirrors that smirk.

"It's not her fault, though." Ben clarifies. "Me being in here is basically like..." He tries to think of what might translate. "Bringing a bag of rubbish with you to a... Well, to a lounge." He chuckles. Armitage's smile falls. It's a disgrace! His features grow hard at the injustice. He's always thought the culture here was disgusting! Ben is no less! He's more! Armitage's expression hardens. It's like clouds being drawn over the sun and Ben regrets trying to explain.

"It's a little unorthodox."

Armitage shakes his head. He meets Ben's eyes, his hand still finding Ben’s.

"I just mean, fighters are very...Temporary. Attachment is..." His heart twinges at the thought of speaking it aloud when attachment is what... He thinks might be forming here. Friendship. And, at least for his part... Something else entirely impossible and forbidden. He'll keep that to himself, of course. Armitage's throat grows thick. The fingers of the hand that doesn't reach for Ben's comes instead to his wine glass. He tips it, his fingertips trembling slightly, eyes downcast. It's savage! Barbaric and cruel! Like Brendol! He's making it worse... Armitage drains his glass. Ben chews at his lower lip.

"Frowned upon. Harj encourages investments with returns. And we're corpses too soon for that to be... Possible." He feels like he's making it worse. Their hands are still joined however. Ben trails his hand over the back of Armitage's, feeling that smooth... snowy skin, without thinking. Armitage closes his eyes. Shutting out weakness. Ben is his only friend in the world. He squeezes Ben's hand as he feels Ben touch the back of his hand. So tenderly. He tries not to choke on the smallest sob at even the idea. He swallows hard, against the lump of despair in his throat.

No. Armitage won't let it happen, and it won't happen... Again in the future. He gathers himself with a shaking breath. 

"It's not a bad thing, really!" He tries to make it better, to assure Armitage that there's no reason to be sad. Or distraught! Certainly not on his account! Armitage could laugh. Not so bad... He really does make the smallest sound. Tears beading close to his lashes, he managed to blink them back before they fall.

"There are perks! I mean, I probably won't ever have to worry about grey hair or... Or afflictions of the joints! And..." He trails off. Armitage is shaking his head again. He turns away for a moment, his free hand pressed to his mouth. It hurts... It hurts more than Brendol beating him. It hurts more than bleeding... Even the thought... He can't...

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you." He apologises, looking down at their joined hands. His looks so dark in comparison to Armitage's fair skin... His is so coarse and hardened. Scars and calluses. Armitage shakes his head a final time, removing his own hand from his lips. Drawing himself together before he faces Ben again.

"No, not at all!" Armitage hastily lies. "Just..." He takes another deep breath. "Please. Don't let victories get to your head, be careful!" Armitage begs him. "Be smart." He stops himself.

He can't go on. Ben knows all of this already. It isn't helping him... To...

"A lot will change... When I am Emperor." Armitage says quietly. It's high treason to even speak of it. Still, he wears a scowl of determination. "But not long from now... You will be with me." Armitage promises him. "And you... Will be as much a prince... As I am."

Ben's eyes widen. It's the natural progression, of course, that Armitage will rule but to speak of it while Brendol still lives! Ben laughs, nervously, again, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. He sees the signs of Ben's disbelief, his small laugh, Perhaps fear too? In the widening of his eyes? Armitage is tired of fear... He's sick now, because of it.

"I-I doubt that is.... Possible. Us poor mortals don't compare to the likes of you." He offers jokingly but there is sincerity in his gaze. Armitage shakes his head. If only Ben could know! He's so much more than Armitage will ever be! Beautiful. Powerful. Brave. A proper man! A heart that's more precious than any treasure... Any crown.

He opens his mouth to protest but Ben speaks first:

"I don't need to be a prince! If... If I get to know you, exist in a space close to yours... If we're..." It seems ridiculous, impossible, even. But he still hopes for it. "If we're friends... Or even if I somehow am to leave this place and serve as your guard... I-I think I'd be content with that." He doesn't dream of grandiose things, these words he has uttered are as extravagant as they come.

Armitage listens, bewitched by Ben's low voice, his words. Does he truly mean them? Armitage gazes longingly at him. A sadness in his look. A need. He gives Ben's hand another squeeze. They are caught in a wistful dream, a longing neither seems to be able to articulate. The conversation continues. Armitage finding strength, determination again. It won't be an option. Ben will be fine. Soon he'll be at Armitage's side and they will be... friends together, for as long as they live.

"We'll always be friends." Armitage promises. Ben smiles. Perhaps... No... He cannot consider that they could be... Be... More than... What is he thinking? He must be mad!

"But very well." Armitage confirms. He tries to lighten. For Ben. For his sake. "My guard..." Armitage decides with a look of delight and mischief in equal measure at the thought. Ben grins, leaning in - whatever his intent is, it fades as he hears the soft rustle of fabric, the grate of metal on metal. Ben's features are bright and warm as the sun once more and once more it is catching. He leans closer and once again Armitage is forgetting what it is to breathe... All over again. What is this? He shifts, hurriedly, almost guiltily as the curtain is pulled aside and waiters present their food and drinks. 

The curtain opens and for some reason, Armitage finds himself... Disappointed.

Still, the food looks to be a treat in itself... A delight he hopes Ben will love...

"Oh, wow!" Ben breathes, staring down at the steak placed before him. Everything smells delicious! Armitage smiles broadly at him. At his reaction. Oh, Ben... It does smell lovely, however.

"Uhm… Uh, put it on my account!" He urges, his mouth waters at the sight of the dish before him. He's eager to... To try to give something to Armitage and he has, really, no other means. 

No, no, he mustn't! Ben doesn't have enough to begin with!

"Please do not." Armitage tells the waiters. "It shall be put on my account, by my order."

They can hardly argue with the order of a prince over a gladiator, the waiters exchange a look before filing off, closing the curtain and leaving them to their privacy. Ben's lips parts, glancing between Armitage and the waiters. They disappear, without confirming one way or the other. He turns to Armitage.

He feels so... Fortunate and yet…

"I must do something for you, then." He states, his tone serious and his expression pleading. Armitage turns to look at him. His sweet eyes, but a desperation in them. 

"Surviving is the most you may do for me." Armitage answers him. "I ask no more."

"What if I want to?" His voice is quieter still, holding some of the warmth of his gaze, of his cheeks. He does. Genuinely. He wishes he could do anything more than to fight and one day, hopefully die without too much agony. 

Armitage doesn't know what to reply. He cannot ask Ben of anything! It is because of Armitage and his father that Ben lives this cursed life. He tries to put his mind from it. 

"Please have as much as you like." Armitage implores Ben. "And if you like more, you will have it."

Armitage begins to elegantly eat his salad. The seasoning of the scallops is quite lovely.

Ben flushes. It's more than he deserves - it's so generous!

"Thank you!" He exclaims, waiting for Armitage to begin to eat before his hands find his cutlery with an excited zeal. He remembers, vaguely, his mother speaking of manners though he can barely recall.

He cuts into his steak, pink and tender inside. The sauce... Everything! He makes an appreciative sound, a moan of delight as he takes a bite. His eyes close, savouring the peppercorns, squishing them against the roof of his mouth. It's so....! Armitage can see his delight. How overwhelmed he is! It charms him. He almost has tears yet again in his eyes. Ben deserves this... More than this... Everyday onward. The way his beautiful lashes come closed to savour the taste within the precious red gates of lips...

"Gods..." Ben says after swallowing. An entire plate awaits him! He can scarcely believe it! 

"This is amazing! Did you want some?" He offers, barely able to contain himself. Armitage almost chuckles at Ben's blatant amazement. But it's so unfair. The working of his throat as he swallows… Armitage draws away his eyes. The scallops are perfectly cooked, the salad crisp. Quite delicious.

Armitage feels light. Like the sun. The way Ben makes him feel. His excitement like a child! Armitage loves the way he… He shakes away further and increasingly ridiculous ideas! He gives Ben a knowing but happy look. He is lost to the sensations, the flavors and the delights to the meal. Armitage looks so pleased! So happy! It fills Ben with the same emotions.

"Ben..." He coos, "I eat this caliber of food every day! You needn't give me anything." Armitage clears his throat. Ben can't imagine eating like this every day! He feels like he would lounge forever, eating until he's fattened up like a pig. Ben chuckles for him, a song like music. Armitage wishes he might hear it, often.

"You could, however..." Armitage nudges a scallop towards Ben on Armitage's plate, "Try some of mine?"

Ben eyes it curiously. He's never seen such a thing! He grins, moving his face closer to Armitage.

"By your hand, your Highness..." He murmurs softly, parting his lips and closing his eyes. Ben brings his face closer and Armitage gulps… His tone! Armitage flushes a brilliant red, his wide eyes unable to look from those rose lips.

Armitage takes a scallop, smaller than the others so it might fit more easily. He lifts his fingers to Ben's lips. Somehow it is a secret. Something that cannot be seen! Something taboo. Obscene! But too beautiful to be obscene. Ben's long, dark lashes, his locks of hair...

Ben waits, patient. He hears the soft sounds of movement. He opens his mouth a little wider, lifting his tongue slightly. Armitage gently fits the scallop to his mouth. Placing it carefully on his tongue. His fingertip brushes Ben's lip and he feels dreadfully or wonderfully faint. B's careful in closing his teeth, his lips closing softly, a taste of Armitage's fingertip upon his lips.

He savors the flavors presented to him - the texture! Ben's eyelids are delicate wings as they flutter open. Armitage doesn't have to wait long for a verdict: Ben's small sound of delight confirms it. Armitage still feels like a flame, burning. His cheeks still scorched. Ben’s lips curved in a close-mouth grin. An exclamation of joy! Finally, he swallows, head tipping back, still smiling his eyes closed as his shoulders rock slowly side to side.

"I don't know how you manage to get anything done!" He mutters, amused and awed. "Honestly, I think I would spend my days eating and eating and eating!"

Armitage laughs affectionately, his lips are curved upwards as he continues to eat. He knows, of course: he takes it all for granted. Yet in this moment, it feels light. Natural. Easy as breathing. Ben cuts into his steak, helping himself to the delicious peppercorn sauce.

"Mmm..!" he'd kill fifty men a day to eat like this when he wanted!

"Fuck..." he says softly, barely more than a whisper.

"I'd give you everything..." Armitage promises, continuing his dream... "And you'd need never pay a price." His exclamations of pleasure are so pure and real. To think he would never have eaten this! What a waste for Armitage to have eaten it so often! He hears Ben's swearing and he can't stop smiling. He tells Ben that he will give him this... Everything! Another promise he swears to keep.

Ben's hands still. He's silent for a moment, blinking down at his plate. His vision blurred. Tears. He clears his throat, wiping at his eyes with his knuckles. Armitage looks at him in question, only to see the dew drops of tears. Armitage stares. It's painful. But somehow, it's sweet too. Armitage comes closer to him. His hand rests on Ben's back as he sees him wipe his eyes with bloodied knuckles. A breath caught in Armitage's throat. He lifts his hand and as delicately as he is able, he brushes aside a tear on the plane of that soft cheek.

"Armitage..." Ben’s voice is so very tender, softened by emotion. Did he do too much? Is... Is all of it wrong? Does it hurt him further? His voice is beautiful. But swelled up. Thick.

"Ben?" Armitage prompts in a whisper.

"I..." he hasn't done anything to.... Deserve such kindness. Armitage has always helped him! And he does... Nothing but murder for sport! He sets down his cutlery that he has been using incorrectly but rather directly. Armitage sees his tongue run over his lower lip. He smooths Ben's back with his hand, as if some comfort might help him speak his thoughts. Ben draws a deep breath, trying to chuckle but it almost seems like a sob. A touch that is too soft for a career murderer. 

"You already have given me everything." he says finally lifting his face to look at Armitage. Armitage shakes his head. He's the reason Ben is in hell, suffering. The reason why his parents and his people are dead. Ben tries to smile but he's too... Overcome. Sometimes... It's the thought of seeing him in the crowd, the only thing that helps to push him through his exhaustion and the pain of his injuries. The memories of his childhood are long behind him. The only one that seems to remain is Armitage... Reaching for him. 

"Ben..." Armitage's own eyes are tearing. Armitage's hand reaches yet again for Ben's, lifting it gently. Prized. Adored.

"Ben, I..."

He stops himself. So dangerously close to telling him he needs no reason, no payment. Only Ben's...

His love...

Armitage closes his eyes. Cheeks flushing. He tries not to reveal... How shamed he is!

"I'd give you anything." Ben says, looking back down at his plate. Everything, in fact! Why does he hesitate to say such things? Armitage is all he thinks of!

"I wish..." No. He can't. It's impossible. And if his life has taught him anything. If his occupation teaches him anything at all, he can only live in the now. This is all he has. Right now.

Armitage blinks open his eyes. His hand strokes Ben's.

"Wish... What?" Armitage asks, his voice soft and eyes large and watery.

That they... That everything was different! That his hands... That...

He remembers what the Sage had said. Laughing at him. Telling him that he was in love. The Sage said he'd seen it before. But it was not entirely a happy revelation. The Sage was quick to caution him. His heart is now his softest spot. His weakness will not be his bleeding right ribs. He and the prince won't be anything. Because Ben’s destiny is to die. Armitage's destiny is to rule. And there are complications involved with that. The Sage told him that.

"I wish we were free." he whispers, pressing the back of Armitage's hand to his forehead. Armitage saddens. He... He wants to promise Ben will be free! But it is naive to entirely dream. Ben’s eyes are closed. The way Ben touches his hand is the way one might worship a monument. So delicately. Armitage might be the prince, but he is not worshipped. Nor is he touched, at all. Others treat him like he is a blade that will cut them. Armitage waits. He can perceive Ben's struggle. He wishes he could help him express…

Ben licks at his lip once more. Eyes opening, lifting. Armitage might be the only one in this entire world...

"Because..." he is so close! His confession hangs in the air between them. A forbidden wish. Suddenly Armitage is caught again. Suspended. It... It can't be...

"Then we could travel the world together." he finishes, a paired down version of the truth. "I'd take you everywhere! We could... Eat food from every corner of the world!" It's unfair. To do this, he supposes. The small funds he has been trying to squirrel away, to form a means of escape. They'd be so small, he could offer so little in the face of what Armitage must have.

It sounds stupid, to say it aloud. The prince would never be content to live as a nomad. Only possessing what they can carry and living wherever they choose to put their heads down. But to Ben it sounds like paradise. Especially if it is with Armitage.

The Sage said there would be demands. Royalty have shackles of their own. At most he might be allowed to be confidant. Maybe a whore to warm his bed but, more than this... Royalty cannot afford to love. 

Armitage nods. Yes... He...

"That would be beautiful... Ben." Beautiful?! What is he saying?! He brings himself closer to Ben. As close as he can dare. Ben blinks at him, cautious. Is he serious? Does he mean it? Maybe it is only more cruel if he does. Though this is a thought he cannot help but disregard as Armitage scoots closer on the booth seat towards him.

"I will do all in my power to ensure you are freed from fighting." Armitage tells him, sincerely. "That you... You can stay with me."

Ben cannot help himself any further. Armitage offers him such lovely words and even if they cannot be true... That anyone might look at him and see more than corpse meat, more than just a pile of credits waiting to be made! It means more than he can say. But Armitage has his duties. He has little delusion that the prince will find other means of entertainment, eventually, or that his attentions will be diverted one day. He cannot be expected to keep returning here forever. He'll grow bored and he will cease to spot that white in the crowd.

He puts his arms around Armitage's shoulders, drawing him close into an embrace. Armitage stiffens at first when he is pulled into Ben's arms before softening. Letting it happen. As Ben's eyes close, so do Armitage's. He lifts his own arms to hold Ben, tight, hopefully without hurting him.

Ben cherishes the contact, hoping he has not offended him to presume to touch him in such a way. He tries not to hold him too tightly, in case he cannot bear it… A tear spills from his eye, even with his lids squeezed shut against them. He could hardly hope for such a friend. Such a... His heart feels giddy and heavy at the same time.

"I appreciate the thought." he says after a lingering moment, finally moving to withdraw himself. "You cannot know what it means." he finishes in a whisper. Not just a thought! Armitage will do it! He's the prince! He can! Ben pulls away and Armitage tries to... be composed.

"I'll do it." Armitage repeats his promise sincerely. Hope is a dangerous thing here. But Ben believes him. He has never lied to him before. He feels he has worth to Armitage. More than just money and entertainment. He realizes that he trusts Armitage implicitly. But it doesn't mean he isn't concerned.

"Harj doesn't just... Let fighters leave. And even the Emperor seems to obey the laws of the Pit." he smiles sadly. 

"I am NOT my father!" Armitage didn't realise how harsh that would sound on his tongue. Shock... at how he sounds! He's disgraced. He tries to soften again. He lowers his face. Regret.

Ben tenses in his arms, drawing away. Armitage shouldn't have... he... Instantly, he is sorry.

"I.. I know you're not." Ben quickly tries to smooth over this... Mistake.

"I'm sorry, Armitage, I know you're not, it's just..." Harj is a horrifying man. He is afraid for Armitage to even think of crossing him. 

"I just want you to be safe." Ben tries to soothe. There are a great deal of stories told about Harj. If even a fraction of them are true… Armitage could scoff at it. He's the prince! Harj can't…! There isn't a way he can… Yet Brendol mistreats him almost everyday and no one intervenes. Loyal subjects, but to his father, not to him. An Ben isn't telling him everything. It's about Harj, Armitage is sure. He... he doesn't entirely understand. Ben is only one fighter! And if his destiny is to die anyway...

Why should anyone care if Armitage were to...?

It's not Ben's fault... he asserts his promise once more.

"I... I'm sorry." He apologises in a stutter. "I..." he doesn't know what's wrong with him sometimes! "You will leave!" Armitage vows. "You will be freed."

"I will still fight for you. Even if life pulls you away." Ben says, reaching for his drink. He'll still think of him. Dream of him. He'll love him until death takes his soul from his body. This much, Ben is certain of. Armitage tries to be a blank. He closes his eyes again but his fingertips tremble. He's so rich and yet Ben is all he has. He turns his face away, his hand lifting to his eye to catch a tear that hasn't yet fallen. Armitage turns away and Ben frowns.

"But if I did get to join you... I'd... I'd be the most loyal of all subjects." he smiles, "I would serve you endlessly." As if servitude could ever repay him for anything he has already done for Ben, let alone what he promises he is yet to do.

Armitage knows. He knows… He doesn't deserve that service. He doesn't deserve... this. His turns away and yet his heart craves Ben more than ever.

"I'm not... giving up..." Armitage decides, having calmed like a sea after the threat of a storm. His voice is quiet but the words are rock solid. Ben grins, his hand on his shoulder, trying to get him to turn back. Armitage is bold. He leans his cheek on Ben's hand for a moment before turning back to face him. He blinks back the sad desperation in his eyes.

Ben savors the touch of his cheek on his hand, a shaky inhale of breath. As Armitage turns back around,it takes all of Ben's self control not to pull him closer, to settle him upon his lap and find his lips with his own. 

Does Armitage feel it, too? Or is he really as stupid as people say that he is, a hopeless romantic sort in a world of ruthless violence and death? Maybe.

"Neither will, I, then. I'll never give up." He takes another drink - feeling a little better, a little buzzed. Armitage's lips curve. A tiny half smile.

"Do you want to go dancing?" He asks, his grin widens.

Armitage stares at him. Go... he... go...

For some reason it seems to take him a minute to process. There's a long pause and Ben thinks for a moment that he may decline.

"...yes." He answers with an almost seductive smirk.That smirk on his full lips that brings heat, spilling it down Ben’s spine. He swallows, getting to his feet. He shrugs out of the top part of the robe, adjusting the belt at his waist, settling it lower on his hips, twisting and twisting until the robe has formed an much more covering garment, leaving his chest bare. He turns to push the curtains open, the top curve of his wren tattoo is only just visible.

Armitage stands, brushing himself down. He can't pull his eyes from Ben's adjustments to his robe. Armitage hopes it is secure enough. He is aware he's staring. He forces himself, finally, to look instead at the wall, as Ben finishes.

"It gets warm." He advises, eyeing Armie's cape from over his shoulder. Armitage has often been forbidden from removing his cape... but Brendol isn't here. His followers won't care for Armitage's specific etiquette. Armitage removes his cape. Drawing it away. He folds it, carefully. Laying it on the seat. Ben reaches his hand so he can guide him. He could take his bloodied gear with him but it's almost ready for replacement. He decides to kick it under the table.

"And there are a lot of people." He warns, but there's a light in his eyes, an excitement. Perhaps this might be the only other thing he can enjoy in his small world.

Maybe Armitage ought to have caution, but he is so... so sick of fear! The drink might have improved his confidence. Everyone KNOWS! Don’t they? Or at least suspect! Why should he hide what is already seen? It... seems strange. Armitage nods. He reaches for Ben's hand nonetheless, drawn from the booth.

Ben takes him from the Lounge. Kiery gives him one last sour look. They will get paid. The books ALWAYS balance.

"Sometimes, after big fights.." Ben exclaims, taking him through a winding series of small cramped hallways. He pays no mind to the black doors they pass. They're never allowed to see what is inside and he's certain he does not wish to know. Still, the path is one of the best shortcuts he knows. Armitage's eyes linger on the doors. These places he has never seen before. He's the prince! And yet he's seen so little of his own people. He feels so ignorant; learning only statistics and economics and...

He's distracted by the slurred calls of a drunkard ahead of them.

"They turn the training pit into a dancefloor!" He explains as they take a final twist - a wider corridor now. Only a few stragglers meander down its length. Some are drunk, some are bloodied. Fighters, mostly, Ben notes. Even though he is enjoying himself, he is still alert - watchful. He brings with him the most important person on this planet. At least, he believes so.

And one, Armitage thinks increasingly, that is unlike any dance floor he has seen. What...dances do the common people do? Everything is dirty. Armitage catches sight of a bloodied jaw and a deranged pair of eyes. He casts his own eyes down immediately, but ridicules himself in his mind; what kind of prince is he to bow his head to them? Still, he is grateful for Ben's watch, that he feels as they continue. His skin is crawling... and it's so much different from... from anything! Shocking and heart-pounding... or perhaps that is the pound or thrum of some other thing in the distance.

"It's actually the place I had my first fight!" He has to shout now - the bass thuds through the walls, the music is so loud! They are nearer and the thrumming only grows. Armitage thinks his heart is vibrating... to that strange sound...

"Against a dog!" He chuckles now, but he had been so hungry and scared back then. Armitage turns to look at him. He's afraid... why should he be afraid? The thought of Ben as nothing but a boy and a vicious, drooling dog! Armitage closes his eyes, trying to block away the thought, only for his senses to be invaded entirely by a deafening beat. He... he doesn't know what to do... where to move...

Ben pushes open a gate and the room opens before them. A sprawling mass of bodies - the music thuds like another heartbeat, a second pulse in his ribs, in his throat. He turns, taking both of Armie's hands and leads him down into the pit with all the other dancers - some are in a state of partial dress. Others are almost bared entirely and those with clothes are soaked with sweat. The air is thicker - more bodies in a smaller space. The music takes control, impossible to resist the frantic beats. Ben is already caught in its grip - grinning widely. 

Ben’s hands are an anchor as they are lead forward... what a... place this is! Armitage at least takes comfort that everyone seems completely engaged in... in their entanglements and ritualistic movements that they will hopefully not watch him and see his princes' clothes...

There's so much flesh! Out on display! Armitage can barely think of it, the current pulls him further on a ride of instinct and madness...

"Sorry, no waltzes!" He leans in close to Armie's ear, shouting to be heard. Nobody looks at them, they may as well be invisible - the only god here is the music, the only ruler they follow is the beat.  
Armitage almost grins: yes, he has uncovered that much. It's so... different! He stares at the lengths of arms lifting and falling like flickering flames. The rolling of bodies... it's so very hot.

Armitage is perhaps as much out of place as Ben would feel in his palace. He's a spot of white in darkness and flashing light and that throbbing heartbeat that speeds over and over… He feels as if the ground is already swimming, his breaths shortening... he... he doesn't know what to do!

He looks to Ben, hoping to copy what he does...

Ben grins at Armitage's clear uncertainty of what to do or where to look. He catches his chin, lifting his face up towards his.

"Just look at me!" Ben shouts. At least, that's what Armitage thinks he shouts. Armitage meets his cocoa eyes. It seems impossible that he or anyone should be so... at one with this, but he is. Armitage feels safer with Ben closer to him. He's already hot in his clothes and he hasn't even begun to dance except for the slight shift from foot to foot. Yet Ben seems completely comfortable, pulling them into the writhing mass of bodies. It doesn't take long before Ben's movements have become loose and fluid - he keeps close to Armitage, his eyes still roving the crowd around them periodically.

Security is a laughable dream down here.

A couple near to them is far more frantic - arms lifted, offering praise to a god that cannot be seen, only felt... Only heard. Ben guides Armitage's hands to his waist as his own hands slip up the sides of Armitage's arms and finally his hands join the air as the others around them have done. His eyes closed for a moment, consumed in the music, head tilted back - throat bared to throbbing bass. Submissive to the sounds that seep into their ears. They are jumping, fists pumping, swaying.

He feels Ben's waist, another anchor as well as his eyes, Ben seems to flow under his touch as he makes another connection with Armitage's arms... Armitage wishes he had had more drink. He feels being as drunk as so many of them must help this great swarm. There's so much that has taught him to be stiff... he needs to let go...

He sees Ben's eyes close, his face tipped back to reveal that precious length of neck, glistening with early beads of sweat. Ben's shoulders rolling, his long body curving and twisting like a snake, his long hair thrown around his head... Armitage finds himself caught in a dream, but not one, he realises with small shock, that he wishes to escape from. He tries to loosen... tries to lift his arms, his clothes are so thick and tight, stifling, he feels sometimes like he might be suffocating until he draws his eyes back to Ben's body, he dances like a flame, just as the rest do. There's no order, no memorised steps, no orchestra just...

Catharsis. Liberty, or a false sense of it, since none of these people are free. What would Brendol do, to see Armitage here-

No. He won't think of Brendol. That only helps his nausea, the throb of his head grows painful at the thought, his breaths struggling... no. No... no!

He looks back to Ben. Always back to him. He soothes Armitage. He carries him in the sea around them. Armitage begins to move and it is strange and surreal that nothing truly motivates what movement he makes. There are no rules...

One song bleeds into another.

"How are you doing?" He shouts, his lips brushing against Armie's ear accidentally as another dancer collides with his back, pushing him forward. His arms are around Armie, holding him as he tries to steady himself, lest they find themselves on the floor. It takes him several moments for him to finally release him. He cannot help but appreciate the feeling of Armitage’s slender waist caught in the circle of his own arms.

He is pulled closer to Ben, the two of them sweating... Armitage closes his eyes. Holding him tight, irrationally both exhilarated and frightened. His skull seems to be drummed on with a hammer. He begins to wish he were invisible, before he feels the touch of Ben's hand. He follows the pull, Ben's face is a point of focus, an island in the enormous sea.

Armitage gives a small nod.

"I'm alright!" He calls back. Ben's lips have touched his ear... even in the heat, it sends a chill down his spine. He moves back from Ben. Swallowing hard. The only way to join this madness... is to forget what he's been taught. Armitage reaches to remove his shirt... and lets it fall. Released. Armitage can breathe... he can breathe...

He laughs softly. Ben stares at his lips, his head tilting towards him. He leans back, nodding and grinning as he sways and jumps with the rest of them. Perhaps madness sometimes can be embraced...

Armitage’s eyes close, he begins to pull his hips in a circle, his arms lifted higher. Yes... he's... he is not the Emperor's son anymore. Just the beat. Just the dance...

Ben feels an elbow thrown into his back, a woman with a pouch at her neck. He half turns towards her, pulling two vials from her pouch, there's a business arrangement made... She'll find him later for payment, he's certain of it. No one leaves debts hanging.

He turns back to Armitage to see him pulling his shirt away, falling somewhere beneath their feet. He cheers loudly for him, passing him a vial. Armitage pushes aside the thought that, likely, he looks ridiculous. None else seem to hold any kind of self consciousness or self discipline here... they all move in a way that is not human... not long after his shirt is pulled away does he see something tossed in his direction. He catches it. A strange liquid in a vial...

"It's gonna taste like SHIT!" Ben howls with laughter, popping the small cork out of the end and tips his head back, lips parted as it pours it straight down his throat. He whoops, eyes blurring with the sting of tears brought on by such a bitter, sour taste. It's exhilarating! His veins feel like they are on fire!

He smiles, almost deliriously as Ben falls into a fit of laughter. So long as it's not poison, Armitage thinks. It wouldn't be beyond the people to attempt to kill him... but Ben drinks it instantly. Armitage finds himself staring, hearing his exclamations... Armitage frowns. Observing the vial again. He pops the cork, sniffing it...

It smells like a kind of smoky perfume. The colour is dull but the light makes it change through the rainbow... like oil. Hopefully not as viscous... Armitage doesn't have much time to consider. He drains it... then almost instantly his stomach churns, he wonders if he will be sick... but he begins to laugh. The lines blurring. It feels like it could have been poison, but Armitage feels so alive!

Ben tosses his sweat dripping hair back from his face. His hands finding the sides of Armitage's face, pushing that damp red hair back from his face... Gods... He's beautiful... Maybe it's the alcohol, or the music, or the chaos of the moment. A moment where they aren't anybody but two more bodies in a whole crowd. Armitage pants, trying to clear the fire from his mouth when he feels the touch of Ben's hands. He leans against him, lips parted and eyes closed, savouring this bizarre half of time where no duties need be done... both of them are equals, not a prince and not a fighter…

Ben is drawn in by the beautiful pale gleam of his chest - so splendidly crafted. He steps in closer, arms raised to the roof, fingers reaching for something he can only feel, never see. He can't stop grinning, his eyes half mast and locked on Armitage. Armitage moves purely on instinct, he opens his eyes to see Ben stretching to the heavens. He laughs softly, doing the same with what is probably a stupid expression... so rarely does he smile except when he's with Ben.

"You're RADIANT!" Ben shouts, moving around him, turning in a tight circle,smoothing across Armitage, back to back, his head resting on his shoulder, staring up at the roof for a moment, his hand smoothing along the other side of Armitage's face before spinning back to his front, facing him. 

Armitage slaps him lightly, Ben makes a mockery of a shocked face as Armitage slaps him, he barely feels it, circling once more. Armitage gulps, he feels Ben at his back and he leans his head back to meet Ben's broad shoulder, only to feel Ben do the same. Balance. Harmony. Armitage didn't think it was possible for his pulse to race even faster. 

Ben gives another jubilant shout - others do the same, a smattering of exclamations. Not so far from the side of them, a couple has engaged in an activity that is nearly profane, their lips searching each other as if they might devour one another, hands all over each other. It's with barely concealed lust that Ben looks back to Armitage who continues to dance, the world swimming and dancing around him in turn. They are one. Ben's gaze only spurs him on. He doesn't understand the reason- but to feel admired... or wanted... or desired, Armitage isn't sure which, but it is a feeling fast becoming addictive.

Around them, others seem to fall to their basest instincts. It's dangerous... Armitage doesn't entirely know what his basest instincts are. His desires are... unlawful… He tries not to follow the collapsing and reassembling of his mind, lest it make him mad. The swirling dance has begun to spin or maybe he is spinning, twirling... he isn't sure, only that he wears a broad smile.

He catches Ben's eyes, the look in them... will he devour or protect Armitage? Armitage no longer knows… 

Ben feels so alive! More invigorated! The drink buzzes through his veins, Armitage looks like a young god and he's moving with the music. And he's smiling! Gods, Armitage's smile threatens to shatter the foundations of his small world down here. He knows nothing of art but he thinks if he did - none of it could compare to that luscious curve of his lips, the flush on his face from the heat and the alcohol, the sharp shards of red hair hanging around his face like a wreath of flame.

He shakes his own hair - above them someone has started the sprinklers. It does nothing to stop the dancers. He stills for a moment, mouth open as the cool water sprays into his mouth. He doesn't drink too much, of course, he doesn't want to dilute the alcohol. He doesn't want to lose this feeling.

Water rains down on them, but they're not in the outside, it isn't rain. Armitage lifts his face, trying to clear his vision, he tastes the water, he's dehydrated… He looks over, Ben's hair is a halo sparkling with droplets. His body is the sun, rippling, strong and bringing heat, his hair... his eyes are the night that follows day. Armitage sees his long hands lift and he reaches for them.

That’s when Ben spots a figure moving in the crowd a little more intently than the mindless offerings of the rest of the dancers. A man has come closer to Armitage, trying to tug him away. His intentions written on his face clearly, tongue hanging and eyes full of heat. 

An arm, the arm of a fighter, judging by the strength, comes around his waist. Armitage's eyes widen. He stares, shaken at Ben, feeling another's hot breath at the back of his neck. It smells like his father's breath: he stinks of alcohol. Armitage's chest lifts and falls raggedly, he tries to twist away...

"Pretty thing... looks like you've never had a fuck in y-"

Ben doesn't hear what he says to Armitage only knows that his fist is in the man's face, in his gut and his knee has broken his nose on the way down. Armitage gasps, Ben's fist flies by Armitage's side, he can sense the impact on the other man's face, forcing him to release his grip. Armitage stumbles away instantly... lightheaded as he sees Ben's fist thrown again... 

Soon the man is on the floor and Ben is back to Armitage as if nothing has happened. It's too familiar, he's too used to it... Armitage closes his eyes. He feels another pulling him but he knows it is Ben. He throws his arms around him. His eyes squeezing shut. He clings to Ben like a lifeline, unable to even articulate thanks… The man's screams are erased by the throbbing bass, the fighter squirms, trying to get away from the jumping, stamping feet. It's dangerous to get on the floor.

Getting trampled is a very real possibility. One Ben will protect Armitage from, leading him away lest they trip on the fallen man.

Armitage’s eyes are closed. Probably terrified, actually, Ben thinks, a sobering thought. The way he throws his arms around him without hesitation! He sways with him, slow and steady in comparison to the lively movements they had made earlier. He holds him close, one arm slung along his lower back. Their sweat slicked skin pressed close. Armitage hates this... hates his weakness. Hates being fearing when Ben has to fight for his life every few weeks or less... it's ridiculous! So stupid!

"Armie..." He's leaned in again, his free hand pushing hair back from his ear, calling to him over the noise. Armitage inhales deeply. The hum still echoing in his mind. His arms still wrapped tight.

"Are you alright? Do you want to leave?" He asks, concern written all over his face. He hasn't realized his thumb stroking gently, soothingly at the juncture of Armitage’s ear and jawline, his fingers in his soaking hair.

No! No he shouldn't... he... he doesn't know... no, he doesn't want to leave because then the night will be over! Because then he'll have to return... and when he returns... he shudders to think of it. Ben touches him so gently. So carefully...

Armitage shakes his head.Ben holds him, carefully, searching his face. His red haired companion shakes his head.

"Let's stay!" He answers, his look pleading...

Despite just how afraid he is... it... it will be worse when he comes without a shirt to the inside of his father's walls…

Ben blinks.

"Are you sure? We can... Find someplace else?" He offers, shouting, his voice is starting to go hoarse.

Armitage can't refuse him a second time. So long as they're together, he thinks.

"Alright!" Armitage calls to him. His eyes are guilty... "Sorry..." He tells Ben, though he's not sure he can be heard. Ben is determined not to let the night end... He doesn't want to be parted from him! Everything feels... IS better with him!

Ben shakes his head.

"They're just drunk assholes!" He shouts back, pulling him out of the writhing mass - even if it means throwing a few more punches on his way. He's incredibly effective at getting people to... Move.  
He follows the pull of Ben's hands. His eyes half lidded, unfocused. The crowds are parted by Ben's arm. Armitage tries to huddle close to him, though they cut through, quickly. The oppressive humming begins die once again to a level more bearable. Armitage covers his chest with the arm that is not outstretched to meet Ben's hand, still anxious, still feeling the slur of a stranger... those screams...

But where can Ben take him? They've already barged into the lounge, he doesn't think they can make it back! The Pit will still be full and dangerous until after dawn has broken...

Above it..... 

He first takes him to the quarters where the fighters sleep. Some of the wiser combatants have already found their places and have tried to hunker down and get some sleep in spite of the noise. He's a little clumsier on his feet, but takes care not to trample on those who have not fought their way onto a bed. Armitage finds himself stepping over bodies. Sleeping bodies. He is swift, agile and quiet. Less so than Ben...

Now that they're out of the dancefloor... Ben pauses by his bed - a narrow, low-set cot crammed up against the wall. Paranoia keeps him from moving away from it. The wall, at least, can't stab him in the back. It's more defensible. He's killed people in order to keep it. Ben has led him to a wall, grimy and cold. It is with small despair that Armitage is reminded this is where Ben sleeps. Not in a bed... the injustice only grows worse. Armitage suddenly feels as vulnerable and fragile as glass. He wants to weep as Ben kneels, rummaging through his rucksack - the only possessions he has. He pulls out a loose, baggy sweater, offering it to Armitage.

Something large and soft is thrust into his hands. He can't... he wants to refuse it, but he can't. He pulls it on. It smells of Ben... Armitage closes his eyes, snuggling in the fibres.

"I'll show you the sky..." He says, quieter now. His tone... the depth of his voice... Armitage stares at him. Adoring… The only sky that Ben access to... That smudged, grimy dome above the Pit. He takes him through the rat trails, the narrow passages until they reach some narrow wooden steps. He climbs carefully ahead, throwing looks over his shoulder to make sure that Armitage is alright.

Armitage follows his steps. So small and dark... they begin to climb. Armitage still fears he doesn't have his senses, but he manages to balance enough, take a firm enough grip. Armitage doesn't realise how high they are until they reach the rafters. 

Up into the rafters, high above. Below them, the chaos continues to unravel - the thud of the bass is far quieter now. He leads him to the edge, carefully walking along the beams until he finds the spot. He sits down, his long legs dangling over the edge. Armitage’s eyes are large orbs, his vision only beginning to focus, he reaches for Ben's hand to help his progress before Ben sits. Armitage watches the swing of his long legs, entranced... the beating of the bass far below...

"Be careful." Ben warns - a fall from this height would result in death. He's seen it. He reclines back, braced on his elbows. Armitage nods, finally finding a place next to Ben, crouched close to him, for comfort. Armitage follows his eyes... upward. A shimmer!

Up here, one can see that the building had once been one of finery. Ornate metalwork holding panes of glass. Rusted and worn, now. Decayed grace. In between the smears and the stains of smoke and who knows what else - is the distant glimmer.

"I can never tell if it's really stars or just street lights." He murmurs softly, tipping his head to observe Armitage. Armitage peers up at it. Stars, he thinks... he's sure...

"But it's the prettiest view I can offer you here." He gives him a lopsided grin. He used to sneak up here fairly often. When he thought of escape or similarly ridiculous things. Missing a home he barely recalls.... Less so now. His focus is more heavily settled on the ground. And... He turns his head more directly to look at Armitage crouched beside him, looking up at the dome. His profile is exquisite.

"Stars." Armitage tells him, hoping it isn't a lie, it's too delicate to be a lamp... isn't it? Ben’s brows lift, dragging his eyes away from the red head to investigate the starlight. It makes him smile. Maybe one of his wishes will come true, then. How abysmal it would be if he had been throwing wishes to street lights...

He hugs his own arms, drawing up his knees, Armitage shuffles closer carefully, leaning his head on Ben's shoulder.. He lifts his hand, idly brushing at Armitage’s dishevelled hair with his fingers. His is glad that he put on the sweater. He's still quite warm himself but as he had the chance to observe, Armitage carries less weight. Plus, he decides, as he looks at him adoringly, the sweater looks adorable on him. Far too big. Like he would look, he imagines, if he were to hug him close.

"I'll show you every constellation..." Armitage promises softly. "And the moon... and how it changes faces..."

Ben smiles softly, bowing his head. He wants this.... The sweet things he says... Why do they have to be separated by a line of blood and gender he cannot cross?

"I think I've already gotten to see the beauty of the skies..." he whispers softly, meeting Armitage's eyes. How had he seemed to have forgotten Ben was not born here? He curses himself in his mind: of course Ben has seen the skies... but...

Armitage is caught again in those two deep pools. The kind of darkness and comfort he might find in sleep. Ben can be so powerful, yet with Armitage, he is so gentle. Stars that burn, yet glimmer with hope. Stars in the night of his eyes.

"I doubt any sky could hope to match the drops of the heavens of your eyes." he must be drunk... To spew poetry... Far too forward. Too bold... They don't call it truth serum for nothing. His cheeks are warm, the tips of his ears... But he could die in the morning... The afternoon... Tomorrow night. Why shouldn't he speak the truth of his heart while it still beats?

Armitage blinks at him. He watches Ben’s cheeks, his ears turn shades redder. A blossoming rose... Armie shakes his head, his own cheeks flushing. Ben thinks perhaps he's gone too far. Stepped out of line. He shakes his head at Ben. It’s just that he's... Never felt like this before! He doesn't know how to keep it inside! Maybe it's infatuation. The Sage says it must be, just needs to rub one out...

But it's more, he thinks. No. He knows it is. Futile, perhaps but it doesn't make it less true. Or any less real.

He watches as Armitage buries himself deeper in the sweater, the large turtle neck covers half of his face, his hands gripping his knees, the sleeves pulled over his fingers.

"I feel... this is my home," Armitage whispers, not registering his own words until they were spoken. "You... are home." Armitage clarifies, his whisper close to Ben's ear.

Ben lifts his brows. This Pit is no one's home… His heart seems to skip a beat, his stomach feels full of the fluttering wings of the wrens he is now associated with. Ben turns to him, half twisted towards him, his hand along his cheek. He's so beautiful... All he wants to do... Is make him happy.

Armitage watches him turn and what follows is a touch so tender and gentle... Why is Ben the only one to treat him like this? Does everything and everyone else truly hate him? Greeting him with fake smiles and flattery... or, in his father's court, no pretences at all. Even when Armitage disregarded his clothes as the prince... he would be abused...

Brendol told him that even his mother thought him a disgusting creature. Beneath his pasty skin lies the venomous thing that killed her...

So... is it that Ben cannot see the truth? What has blinded him? Armitage cannot think that it isn't true... but whatever he truly thinks, Ben's gentle touch is a thing he cannot help but indulge in. He leans his cheek further into Ben's hand. He wishes he was bold enough to lay a kiss on his palm... but he doesn't.

That same cheek Ben caresses so softly, is the cheek that has been struck so many times... it's a miracle it isn't permanently red and swelled with shame. Ben's forehead comes to meet his own. Armitage closes his eyes. Dangerous when balanced so high, but Ben makes him feel secure.

Ben longs to... Connect with him. More than even this sweetly intimate touch... He wants to feel his lips upon his own, to share the same breath. But he can't. It would be beyond improper. He's already stepped across enough lines. No doubt he will face the consequences for that later... But it's worth it. It will always be worth the price, so long as they can be together. Even for a short time.

He closes his eyes, stroking gently at Armitage's cheek. So delicately and adoringly. The most treasured thing he has ever encountered. And he lets him put his big meaty paws on his lovely fairness. He doesn't know how he is so lucky... So fortunate…

A longing strikes Armitage. The wish, rising from his lips. To fit against Ben's own...

He really will forsake himself and Ben should he do so. He resists. His eyes squeezing shut. It's a different pain: to resist. To wait. To wish above all for what's forbidden. It is a pain he can find no cure from, no peace, except with Ben's guiding hand... that strokes his skin.

Ben will no doubt gaze upon him one day, as Emperor and remember these times even with the bitter-sweet ache of knowing that he does not belong to him. Armitage will belong to his people. And no doubt to a wife who will bring him even more power, wealth, and heirs.

What could he ever offer him but his heart and endless loyalty and devotion? He wishes he -could- be his home.

"Armie..." An affectionate term slips from his lips. 

I love you. Those are the words he wishes to say. 

No one else in the world has ever said his name like this. Armitage's heart stutters once more. What will happen? If Ben makes a hopeless declaration of love? Or if Armitage does? They'll only hurt each other further.

"Thank you. For everything." he says softly. Armitage tries to stop tears with his closed eyes. No... Ben should not thank him...

"You are... Everything... To me." he whispers.

Armitage opens his eyes. He blinks back a tear... but one misses, falling along, the drop will meet Ben's hand. Armitage has no explanation. He doesn't need more comfort. Only the knowledge Ben will live through this. He'll be alright… 

That lone teardrop tracks along his divinely carved cheek. A warm drop... Of him. Ben leans in close, inhaling deeply. Armitage should never weep! Never have to feel grief! So close now... He smooths the back of his finger across his fair skin, drawing the line of dampness away. Ben looks at him for a long moment, his closed eyes and pale lashes. He exhales shakily, closing the distance.

His lips lay across his own finger, kissing away droplet, not daring to press them to Armitage’s cheek directly. He draws back, before he dooms them both by moving past his own hand an onto that sacred, perfect flesh. Armitage watches in wonder as his lips press to the tear. He even values his tears? Armitage's heart twists. A sensation both beautiful and painful. Armitage tries to comprehend... His eyelids flutter as he continues to try to find the words...

Armitage has riches! He's heir to a throne! Whole nations will come to obey him... but none he loves. Only Ben. Ben... is everything to him, too. He opens his mouth to say it... but... but he won't understand... he's a spoiled prince! How can Ben believe he's truly everything to Armitage?

Because Armitage loves him. Just three little words...

"Ben... I..." 

Ben hangs his head, his lips pressing together, the taste of Armitage’s grief on his tongue. It's unfair...

"Ben..." He shakes his head. Pathetic... weak... he doesn't have the strength of heart. Ben looks back over at him, his dark hair hanging like a curtain.

There's no one else in the world who treats him with true kindness. How pathetic... he can't tell that...

Armitage struggles, his lips working but no sounds.

"I just don't ever want to leave you!" He finally lets out in a small sob. Ben wraps his arms around him, leaning them back gently. He draws his legs back from the free falling empty air beneath them and slides up further onto the boards. He tugs him in close, hands pressing against the warmth and thickness of his familiar sweater.

Ben can wrap around him so easily and Armitage feels so protected... like he is a thing worth protecting... he hugs Ben in returning, resting his face on Ben's chest. Nuzzling close. They give each other warmth…

"Nor I, you." Ben whispers softly, stroking his fingers through his red hair, tugging one of Armie's legs closer with his own, fitting them together as a key and a lock. Armitage closes his eyes. Longing to be in Ben's warmth forever...

"And I never will." He smiles, slightly crooked teeth like a slash of moonlight. Armitage looks up to see his smile. Bright and real. So rare to see a real smile... let alone one so beautiful.

"I'll always carry you..." He puts a hand to his head, "Here." And then down lower, to his chest, "And here." He is about to joke that if he loses one, he'll have the other. But Armitage is... Not so at peace with Ben's mortality. He doesn't seem to be able to laugh at it. He supposes it must not be funny to the prince. But it is, in part, to Ben, whose entire life, save Armitage, seems to be one continuous hideous joke.

Armitage smiles gently. The most sacred places he could reside in... but if he watches Ben be killed... he doesn't know what to do. Whether he can even live. Whether he is too weak to be an Emperor...

It seems like a dream. That Armitage offers no resistance to his efforts to draw him near. It's almost absurd. A barbarian and something so fine and noble. Yet they fit together in such perfect harmony.  
He feels what he has never truly known. Later, he'll come to learn that it is called 'peace'.

He sees a smile curve Armitage's lips. His heart swells.

"You live there too." Armitage tells him honestly. "Inside of me..."

Ben smiles wider, pulling him closer, his arm stretched out to give both he and Armitage a softer surface to lay their heads upon. He nuzzles closer, still half bared, the robe slipping around his legs as he draws him closer. He would be content, he thinks, to lay here forever with him.

A secret heaven just for them, under the stars. Or whatever of them they can glimpse through dirty windows. But he does not search for them now. His eyes adoringly upon Armitage until exhaustion crawls up his limbs. He grows heavy as sleep takes him, scooping his arms around Armitage, even in his slumber. As if keeping guard of him, protecting him.


	7. And you've gotta stand and fight for the price you pay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Every action has it's consequences. 
> 
> In the words of Bruce Springsteen - "You make up your mind, you choose the chance you take."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: 
> 
> Violenceeeeeeee :3

This is not how the guards see it, who have been searching for them for hours. Finding the Emperor’s son’s shirt, trodden on a dancefloor, not far from a corpse. His cloak abandoned in the winner’s lounge. Only to come here and they see someone far larger than their prince in a state of partial dress - they're both soaked in sweat and laying together. The worst is immediately assumed.

"THEY'RE HERE! THEY'RE HERE!"

Ben makes a groggy sound - bright light shone on his face, scarlet through his eyelids. Armitage's heavy eyelids peel open, but he awakens with a gasp. There are others here... he can't see! A bright light is shone in his face and he sits bolt upright, his hands ready... he can't see what- 

Ben moves, to try to sit up but it's not necessary. Hands have seized him, pulling him away violently. His eyes are suddenly wide open, lips parting. Reaching for Armitage, a half-dazed and slumber muddled instinctive response.

"Ar-"

He is cut off by a fist finding his face. Pain explodes from his nose. He's shoved down on his knees, his chest pushed close to the boards of the rafters. He heaves, trying to find his breath that has been knocked out of him, his head spinning.

Ben's warmth is forced away in an instant. Armitage twists, his arms outstretched to find him when he finally focuses, a guard has thrown his fist in Ben's face!

"NO!!!" Armitage screams, his voice still hoarse from awakening.

He dives in Ben's direction, only for his own arms to be seized with strong, plated hands.

"BEN!" Armitage cries, watching in horror as he's thrown on his knees, the blood on his face... all the guards upon him. "Let him GO!" Armitage begs, his voice thick, still struggling, early tears find his eyes as he's pulled further from Ben… 

Ben tastes blood. It drips from his face to the boards. He struggles to orientate himself - trying to see but he feels a boot on his back and the barrel of something pressed to the back of his skull.

Armitage sees the blaster, placed at Ben’s head. He shakes his head, writhing and crying like a wildcat.

"N-no!!!" He gasps out, sobs stifling his breath. "No! NO! DON'T! You CAN'T!!"

Ben hears chatter on a radio - they're calling something in. Emperor's son - found. Alive. They speak of potential assault - sexual or otherwise.

"N-no!" He cries. "I didn't... I didn't touch him! He's safe! He's sa-" He shouts - trying to clarify. A mistake. He's kicked in the face, the boot on his back is gone and he rolls to the side, hands rising to his face. His head feels like it is on fire.

He stops just shy of the edge. The Pit below, like a hungry maw waiting to be fed.

Armitage cries out. Seeing a heavy boot meet with Ben’s face, an audible impact. Armitage is held tightly, he screams nonetheless, still struggling, still desperate to reach…

"What should we do with the fighter, Emperor?" The guards question.

Ben wants to fight them. He wants to throw them from the rafters but to do so will be to consign himself to public execution. The guards are the hands of the Emperor. He can do nothing.

He hears Armitage scream, his head jolting up - trying to see him, through the bright torchlight. He squints, struggling once more to try to get to his knees but they kick him in his guts and he's back on the floor again, a grunt of pain. He lays gasping - if he.... If he struggles, it will just make it worse.

"NOTHING!!" Armitage begs. "Leave him alone!!!" He knows it won't be any use. They obey his father not him... Armitage's brow sets. "Let me speak to father!" He demands them, his voice like a cold swing of an axe.

Ben's eyes close, his lips quirking in the smallest of smiles as he tries to swallow the sounds of his own pain. Brave Armitage...

"LET. ME. SPEAK TO-"

"SHUT UP!" A guard hisses.

Armitage's eyes widen. Just how little authority he has over these guards...

"You're in enough trouble as it is..." the guard adds before returning the communications.

The response from the guard does not bode well. For either of them.

"He's innocent!" Armitage persists regardless.

No, Ben thinks. It was his fault... Gods!

Armitage is being dragged away... his legs stumbling underneath him as he has no control of his movement. He grows more desperate, Ben moving further and further from his reach... his view…

"Wait!" Ben calls to the guards, hauling him away. He crawls forward, two jerky movements of his knees on the boards as he tries to get to him.

"Please!" Armitage begs through tears, still struggling against them, their grips on his arms tight enough to bruise. "Don't hurt..." he shakes his head. Ben... he doesn't know if he'll see him... when he'll see him next!

"BEN!!!" Armitage cries out one last time... "Stay strong! I'll come back for you! I swear it!" Armitage is finally brought back to the steps that took them up there, handed down from guard to guard like he weighs nothing…

"Armie!" He yells back, his voice cracks - the guards handle him so roughly! He will be their ruler one day!

A day he may yet not see... The guards remaining form a half circle around him, advancing. Instinct tells him to move back. He does, until his groping hands feel the edge of the ledge. He swallows hard...

"Don't hurt him!!" Armitage repeats to them, all other words failing him, yet fearing even his pleas fall on deaf ears, as he is brought from the roof, deeper and deeper into that carcass, away from Ben.

"At least let me get up..." Ben grits out. An ugly chuckle from one on his left. He's hauled upright for a second before they all lay into him. He tries to defend his vital areas but it's not long at all before he's back on the ground. It's so unfair! He can't... fight back! Not without writing his life off!

Armitage reaches the bottom, though it was some hassle to get him down; he has been trying to move past the guards, to climb back up... but it's impossible...

He listens through his tears, he doesn't hear a scream... but there are sounds. Grunting and slamming on the rooftop...

Armitage shakes his head, his chest shuddering up and down as he tries to squirm away, they push him from the place, out into the outside where he's loaded into that familiar royal carriage, the doors are slammed, locked...

Is he a prince or a prisoner? The answer has never been clear. Likely, he is both.

~

Ben is left shuddering, bloodied and moaning in pain. The sound of their footsteps fade away after what seems like an eternity.

He rolls over onto his back, coughing up blood. The sun has risen...

"He's up here..."

Ben thinks the nightmare is about to start all over again. His eyes are near to swollen shut.

"Well, at least the roof isn't leaking blood. Tell Harj his show pony might not be in the Pit tonight."

He feels hands on his body but he can't shake them.

"Come on big guy... Just us. Don't kick up a stink now, we have to get you down from up here."

It's disorienting to only hear voices, the blur of light between his eyelids. He tastes only blood in his mouth.

"Wh-wh..." He can't finish his statement, his jaw aches, his lips crack and his skin crawls with the itching sensation of drying blood.

He follows as best he can. He nearly falls twice and the people helping him down the narrow stairs only swear at him, trying to right the colossus of a young man lest he send them all to the ground floor with fresh injuries.

~

The rest of the way, Armitage hardly remembers. The sun is feeble as it rises. All that Armitage thinks of is the punch and kick to Ben's face, the blood drooling from his lips. His poor nose. Armitage is still weeping, even as the doors of the palace are thrown open, he's escorted deeper and deeper...

Finally, they let him go. He stands, again, in a pristine white room, carvings marking the ceiling corners.

Ahead of him, leaning back on a golden chair with a tankard of beer the size of Armitage's head, lounges Brendol. Two almost-naked women are draped over him. They laugh, but Armitage sees their eyes. They're haunted. Darkness hidden loosely with smeared makeup. They are tormented. They want this to be over. Soon, Armitage imagines, it will be. They think they'll be rich. More likely, Brendol will cut off their heads.

The giant man shifts. The tankard makes a thud on the table that echoes in the enormous room.

Armitage doesn't look at him. He won't meet his eyes. Armitage realises he's shaking. He stops himself, gripping his own arms, feeling the bruises the guards left, his eyes narrowing, face twisting into a silent snarl.

"My champion..." he begins in a bold growl, "had better be in a state fit to-"

The golden chair is shoved back, against the pristine floor, with a screech. The two young women bow their heads and slip away from Brendol's shoulders.

"-Had fun, did we?" Brendol sneers, the entire table shuddering as he pulls himself to his feet. "Tell me... did the fighter really fuck you?"

Armitage says nothing. His hands make fists.

"What did you do... with the fighter? What did you do with my champion?" Armitage asks, simply, but his words are heavy.

"Didn't answer my question, you dirty slut." Brendol spits.

Armitage stands, a small creature, in his father’s shadow now.

"No." Armitage answers, numbly. "He did not... fuck... me."

He swallows, hard. He still wears Ben's sweater. It doesn't suit the environment at all. Brendol, of course, has picked up on it. His large hand fists in the soft material... before he rips it over Armitage's head and from his torso. He tosses it away. Armitage moves to take it, but Brendol's hand grips his shoulder.

"You've been crying." Brendol observes with something like glee.

Armitage's cheeks grow hot.

"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH MY FIGHTER!!!!" Armitage turns and screams. Right in Brendol's face.

One might hear a pin drop in the following silence. Then Brendol's hand, predictably, aims for Armitage's face. Armitage ducks away, managing to dodge...

Only for Brendol to throw a heavy kick, straight to his stomach.

Armitage collapses on his back, his skin slapping upon the icy floor.

"Who the HELL do you think you are, BOY?!" Brendol demands, his voice filling the large room completely.

Armitage curls in on himself, cradling his aching stomach.

"Your son..." He whispers.

"Don't think I haven't seen you..." Brendol prowls around him, a carrion bird, "soaking up the glory, making yourself a name..."

Armitage feels a second kick, directed at his spine. He fears... he fears his bones cracking but this will only bruise...

"Think you can be Emperor so early?" Brendol provokes, his form leering at him, high above him. Armitage hides his face. Still in a small ball. "WELL?!" Brendol demands, he leans in closer, coming to one, stony knee. "Not so majestic now, are we?" His fingers fist in Armitage's red hair. "ARE WE?!!!" He bellows in Armitage's ear, almost deafening.

"No." He answers in a small voice.

Brendol drops him back on the floor.

"Giving out favours," Brendol continues to snarl. "Flaunting in front of the crowd... you're no King."

Armitage looks up at him. Finally meeting his eyes. A defiance in them... and it shocks Brendol. Armitage knows that much. He has grown older, wiser and more fierce.

"Rather a pretty little QUEEN!" Brendol howls, now infuriated. "I made sure your fighter was beaten within an inch of his miserable life! And I'll do the same to YOU!!!"

Armitage stares up at him, trying not to fall apart at his words...

An inch of his life?! Ben… Gods! No!!

~

Ben is sat down, on something. He thinks it could be a chair. His head throbs with each beat of his heart. It feels like his head has been cracked open, he keeps reaching his hands to his face, to his head as if to confirm it, to shove everything back inside...

Someone keeps lowering them, batting them away.

"Stop it!" A woman's voice hisses at him. He groans, leaning forward - a mistake. His body answer the movement with a crush of pain that makes him whimper and blood drips from his swollen lips onto the floor.

"Get some ice."

He knows that voice. He lifts his head, face turning from side to side as if to listen for...

"Well, well..." Harj observes Ben, leaning back against his desk with his arms crossed. What a mess. He jerks his chin towards him, the attendant places the small bag of ice at the corner of his eye, guiding his hand up to hold it in place.

"The Prince, huh?" Harj exhales, shaking his head.

"I didn't do anything to him." Ben mumbles, a hard task with his lips swollen and broken. It's barely more than a whisper.

"Except to take him for a drink, some dinner... A dance. Where you murdered one of your fellow fighters. And then off to a gutter rat's romantic viewing of the stars." He clicks his tongue.

"You never were very smart, Kylo." Harj sighs, pushing away from the desk, crossing behind it to sit down in his own chair.

"Took too many hits to the head, I bet." Ben growls out. Harj chuckles, pouring himself a drink.

"I imagine so." Harj sips at the fine alcohol and leans back on his chair, lifting his boot clad feet to rest up on the edge of his desk. A silence stretches out between them. Harj meditatively nursing his drink, watching the miserable form of his fighter.

"So... Why am I still alive?" Ben asks finally, breaking the silence.

Harj sets the glass down with a subtle clink. The ice cubes settle.

"I did contemplate chopping you up... Throwing the chunks to the dogs. But I rather think you might recover from these injuries."

Ben knows better than to take this as encouragement. He swallows hard. It hurts.

"Plus, I'd hate to get my clothes all bloody." Harj adds.

Ben snorts.

"But fortunately, I won't have to." He runs his fingers down the ledger listings.

Ben doesn't like his tone.

"You're still on to fight tonight."

Ben chokes, taken by a fit of coughing. Disbelief.

"What?!"

Harj shrugs, even though Ben cannot see it.

"You have far too large a fan base, I'm afraid. They'd riot if I just killed you. They'd riot if I struck you from the line up. Their adoration of the money you earn them has my hands tied." Harj sounds rather placid about the whole affair.

"Harj... P-please!"

Harj stands from his desk, shaking his head. Another drink.

"Kylo." He crosses around the desk to stand before him. His fingers brush over his lips. "This is your own doing. A pity. I am aware, trust me. If you die tonight..." His hand drops away.

"I haven't got another fighter that pulls a crowd quite like you do. It could be years before we get another birdie like you in this cage. Truly unfortunate. But what did you think would happen?"

Ben's head hangs. He feels... Fear. He hasn't felt fear for quite some time. He realizes, it is because he has something to lose, now.

Harj sighs once more.

"Get him out of here. I don't want any more blood on my carpets. Get him clean."

"W-what about... Stims?" Ben is loath to ask. He hates the... very idea of it! Yet, how could he fight without them? He can barely stand!

Harj stares at him. Stims?

"Stims? Kylo Ren... We don't permit the use of stimulants in our fights. You know our fights are pure." His voice is mocking.

"That's bullshit!" Ben grates.

Harj growls at him.

"OUT! You're lucky I am willing to loan you the credits to purchase strapping tape!" Harj shouts, his fists slamming against the desk.

"I can't even... see!"

Harj sits back down.

"And you never will, unless you figure out how you're going to win. I hope the Prince was worth it."

~

He doesn't focus on anything except the memory of Ben's large, soulful eyes near his own. So startlingly sensitive in the features of a fighter. Pain rips again through his face. Then under his knee. Each place is different, offering a new pain... all while he grunts and cries and whines, watched by the guards and by the women. Brendol calls him a girl. It seems his new favourite insult: to call Armitage female. As if being born woman... is the greatest disgrace to a Prince. Not just woman. Perhaps whore. Armitage finds himself fixating on single thoughts, just to distract from the pooling, metallic taste of blood. What clogs the back of his throat making it harder to breathe... and how he cannot move to stand, until Brendol is finally finished and he returns to his table and chair after his simple exercise, he sits proudly. Armitage no longer holds his attention as he leaves a rich, scarlet trail of drops over the pale floor, crawling away quietly. Not another word.

None of it matters. When he thinks of Ben, nothing hurts except the choking fear and the persistent sting of guilt.

He slopes to his room. Tripping on his feet. A run of blood from his own nose. Bare chest littered with flourishing bruises. He keeps a hand to his face, trying to stop the trickle of blood. His knees are weak. He finally opens his door. He staggers slowly, at his own pace to his shower. He removes his trousers and underwear. He turns on the shower head.

Under a stream of cold water, he watches the blood circle and bubble in pink under his feet. All eyes set upon him will see it. There never was a chance of hiding.

It. Doesn't. Matter. What matters… is… or was: was his father telling the truth?! Armitage can only pray... but he must return there. There is no time to lose now. Before Ben is killed, hurt further there. He's vulnerable! Beaten! Armitage leans at the wall in the shower for support. He shivers at the temperature and allows himself just a small warmth, in the temperature of the water. Brendol won't want him to go back there…

~

He's handed over to the sage.

"Oh, Kylo..." He rumbles upon seeing him. "What a mess."

Ben gropes his way over blindly, his hands finding the wall. His things.... He tries to kneel, to search for his bag. He can’t find...

"Mavis came to come get money for dinner.... And drinks." The Sage answers his question. Ben's hands still.

"I need help..." He whispers.

"Harj sent some strapping tape..." Sage approaches him.

"Can... Please... Help me" He says in a sob, his head hanging.

"Your love?" Sage asks quietly, unwinding the roll of packing tape, reaching to take his wrist. There's a lot to... Try to strap together in the effort to make him strong enough to...

"Y-yes..."

Sage shakes his head.

"I warned you."

"I know. I just... I can't die. I have to survive! For him." He winces as the taping is strapped on tight. His other wrist. His fingers. His ribs. His head.

"Good luck, kid..." Sage says softly, sadly.

"I didn't do anything..." He asserts.

"Pity. If things don't go well, you should at least have had a good send off." The sage chuckles. Ben tries to find humor in it but he can't.

"I think you should wear a blindfold." The sage comments.

"Are you kidding me?" Ben sounds disbelieving.

"No. We'll pack you with ice until the fight but you'll only be distracted, trying to see when you can't."

"I won't be able to hear, either!" Ben cries in alarm.

"You read the Pit, Kylo. I've seen it. Feel the fight. Embrace it. It's your only chance. Harj has put a hit on anyone who might give you stims."

Ben sucks in a shuddering breath. He's going to die... The day has finally come....

Sage pats his shoulder.

"I've done what I can, kid. Let's go see if they'll let you sit in the cold storage. It might help to get the swelling down..."

Ben nods, stumbling up to his feet. The Sage leads him to the kitchens. The industrial refrigerator for the Lounge... He asks if he might be able to keep Kylo in there for a little while. After much haggling, Ben hears the great door opening. He stands inside, shivering - covered in strapping tape and bandages.

He thinks of Armie. Of how he hopes he might not come tonight... In case he cannot do the impossible... In case he dies tonight, it's not something he wants him to have to see. He doesn't want his last memory of him to look like how he imagines he appears. A walking corpse, too stupid or stubborn to realize it.

~

He groans softly. Trying to keep the burning sensation from his face. He takes a wad of tissues and dabs at his nose. Finally finding the will to look into the mirror. He's milk and wine... the cracks in his skin. He sighs. Running his fingers over his eyes...

He dresses in new clothes, the hard white material rubs over his sensitive flesh. Armitage hopes he doesn't bleed in it. He hopes he doesn't ruin yet another set of clothes. He opens his door, only to be faced with another guard, a monster in a scarlet helmet. He tries to move past him but the guard shoves him back inside, almost tipping him over, merely with a small push.

"You can't leave today." The guard tells him gruffly. "Your father's order."

Armitage's face crumples.

"Why?" He asks in a whisper. "Surely I can move... in the palace?" 

The guard shakes his head. "Food will be brought to you. You will stay in your room."

Armitage hardens. He throws his fist at the door frame, ignoring, utterly ignoring the flaming protest of his knuckles.

"I DEMAND TO KNOW WHY!!!" Armitage spits.

The guard looks sidelong at him, still blocking the door...

"There's a fight tonight." The guard replies simply. He throws the door back in Armitage's face and Armitage falls away from it.

His eyes wide. He's not stupid.

No... NO!

Armitage screams. A raw, damaged sound. Perhaps it is the word 'No’ but he is unsure. He knows only that the glass in the room is broken under the swelling misery that now inhabits the force.

~

He has to come out of the fridge every few minutes. He wishes he could have slept but the Sage keeps him rotating, telling him he'll not want the cold to settle in. He's exhausted but the cold has helped. The strapping is so tight he thinks he's lost feeling in his limbs. Better that way… Perhaps.

He drinks his bitter caff, the closer to the fight, the louder the Pit becomes. Like the heaving breath monster.

"Who am I fighting?" he asks, warily.

"I haven't seen a change in the line up. But you're the last fight."

Ben's face crumples. This fight wasn't going to be easy from the outset. Reinhardt is no chump fighter.

"Does the crowd know?" he asks in a whisper.

"I think so." The Sage knows so. The bets are changing. Fast. After a year of reigning undefeated it is the first time that everybody is betting against him once more.

This isn't a fight. They’re hoping it's an execution.

"And I'm still...?"

"Courage, boy. Find your courage. If you intend to live, find your reason. If not... I will walk out of this kitchen now and whatever implement you find on this cutting board here and use to put yourself out of your misery... Is your business."

Find... His reason...

Armitage...

Don't give up.

I'll never leave you.

He grits his teeth, curling his fingers into fists.

"Fuck Reinhardt. Fuck Harj. The Emperor, too." Ben growls, getting to his feet. Once more into the cold room.

The crows wants him only for the money he can make them. Living was fine for a while but now there's rumours that he's a defiler. That he's a predator. That he hurt the Prince, of whom they had grown attached to with his continuing presence in the Pit - his betting making him more personable and more like them.

Where they had once wanted Ben alive, making their riches from his victories and cheered for his wins... Now they call for blood. Death.

His fellow fighters now call him a whore. A brown nosing shitcunt who thinks he can get out... Or thinks he's so much better than they are because he carries the favor if the Prince.

He's gone from a people's favourite... To... Dog food. All over again. But he hasn't lost yet. He still lives. He hasn't had his name stripped.

He swallows hard, nervous. Sage keeps watch. He's already had to stop two fighters from jumping Kylo in the bathroom.

"I'm going to win." he states finally, after having fallen silent some hours ago. Sage lifts a brow.

"Good." he looks at the young man, a kaleidoscope of bruises and cuts and bandages. The blindfold doesn't inspire much confidence either.

"You should bet on me." Kylo says, he grips his blades in his hands, outside the crowd is ignited in howling and screaming as they announce his fight.

"I'm going to win." he states again, smashing his blades together with a metallic clang before walking down the narrow hallway leading to the Pit.

Sage watches him go, a small sad smile on his face.

~

Armitage whimpers, crying into his palms. Armitage said... he'd be back for him. He lied. Now Ben… he can FEEL it! Like a poison in his blood! Ben is going to die! As he weeps, he doesn't notice the growth of his power; the effect of his emotions. The fractured glass pieces are levitating around him, like drops of rain, floating in frozen time. Armitage opens his eyes. Watching the shards...

His cries quieten. His eyes growing sharp. Quiet. Focusing in silence...

Pain... and passion.

Armitage comes to his door, opening it again to find the guard.

"Yes?" The guard asks. Impatient. Unimpressed.

Armitage lifts his hand. He feels cold inside. He draws the glass pieces closer, the only sound being a slight twinkling as some of the edges collide. The guard seems unaware... Armitage leans out of the narrow opening of his door. His eyes scan the guard. The neck. The neck, Armitage thinks... will work. He opens the door wider. Directing his hand forward all at once, the glass shards, like small knives are directed at the guard's throat.

Armitage watches as blood spills out from the opening of his neck. Armitage is stone. His eyes as sharp as those shards.

He drops the remaining glass and it scatters on the floor. Now his hand is free to be outstretched, the handle of his lightsaber flies to his palm.

He will find Ben. He'll stop this. He'll fight... buy his contract... or... Or-!

The steps of more guards thunder ahead of him in the corridor. Armitage has learnt much. He swipes one at the wall, the beam of his humming lightsaber posed to attack, but their fizzing weapons; axes and spears are out. Armitage is hopelessly outnumbered. Surrounded. His legs still tremble underneath him. He charges, nevertheless with a battlecry. Ben is his only priority.

Compassion, he realises with a shock, is the only source of what makes him so irrational. In any other circumstance, Armitage is sure he would not have found the recklessness or the stupidity for this course of action, but he needs speed. Already the afternoon is passing. He flips a guard against the wall with the force, disarms another, yet they still swarm around him until...

Brendol’s shape emerges at the end of the corridor. He lifts a hand, and the lightsaber flies from Armitage's grip. Armitage makes a strangled sound of frustration bordering on insanity. He darts forward, the guards hands are grasping at his arms once more, anchoring him in place.

"I'll take you TO A CELL IF I HAVE TO!!!" Brendol roars at him.

Armitage isn't afraid. Not for himself. Only for Ben. He says nothing, knowing well enough that Brendol will not listen to anything he says.

"Keep him contained, by any means necessary!" Brendol snaps at the guards. "I have a match to get to!!!"

Already?! Then Armitage... even if he could get free, he would be too late! He hangs, limply in the hands of the guards. Prey in their claws.

Ben...

He has to get to him! Somehow... he must! He lets himself get dragged away again. Back to his room... and not a cell, he hopes... until the evidence of the smashed glass. No, he has gone too far and must face punishment. He will be locked elsewhere, likely, with true prisoners. He’ll be a prince, surrounded by enemies to the crown...

The thought makes him close his eyes. He'll not cry this time. He promised himself he wouldn't.

What's the use? He's broken every single promise he's made. He can't help Ben. He won't return to him. He can't be there for him. He breaks down. All he is is despair…

~

The sage watches. Only two people have bet for Kylo Ren's victory.

It's easy to see why. The young fighter seems held together by bandages. A blindfold! How is this... There's no way!

The crowd loves it. They scream for blood. For Reinhardt to rip him to pieces. Rapidly becoming the new favourite.

The screams make it too loud to hear. He cannot see!

Read the battlefield. Feel the fight...

He tries to. Easier when he can move properly. He does feel the fight, however.

He feels the kiss of steel. How he had promised to shun such violent affections... He is in so much pain!

It doesn't take long for him to be falling to his knees, miraculously missing his death by centimetres at a time. It looks like Reinhardt is playing with him....

Wearing him down. Trying to break his mind before he stills his body forever.

Kylo is a shaking mess, his body is covered in sweat. He's shivering so badly and Reinhardt keeps sneaking in.

He tries to read crowd reaction but it all sounds like one continuous scream to his throbbing head.

He thinks he can feel a change in air, he twists to the side and he narrowly avoids being impaled. He hears the weapon clatter in the ground.

The crowd is now laughing... What is he preparing to do?! He cannot seem to locate him well enough to move his back away!

Then he is grabbed. Suddenly they are grappling. Ben manages to throw in some decent punches.

At least with contact he can see with his hands!

It's brutal. He can't see to block and ends up taking more hits than he ought to.

His head feels like it's on fire. His body washed in agony. They twist and writhe. Covering each other in one another's blood.

The crowd... Miraculously falls silent, expecting Ren to have died by now... Yet he fights on.

The growls and grunts of the fighters seems to be the only sound.

Ben throws his elbow, he hits open air and then he feels Reinhardt's hands around his throat.

He squirms, relatively pinned. Perhaps if he was not quite so injured he might have...

He's wheezing, his hands lifting, searching for his face, his eyes.... His nose..

He pulls and rips at everything he can grab with his aching hands

A pitch in weight distribution sends Reinhardt falling back.

Ben pursues. His body thrown, colliding.

It is with luck that he is atop of Reinhardt. Bigger. Heavier. He pins him, lowering his face. He cannot risk his hands free. So he must hold them.

He savages his throat with his teeth. He bites and rips and tears. The man's screams waft up and then the spell is broken.

Everyone is screaming. Everyone but Ben who cannot stop himself in this ruinous task until the man beneath him stops quivering.

It's the Force. It has to be the Force - he's certain it's the only thing that has kept him alive.

He's bleeding, he can feel it - unable to avoid the majority Reinhardt’s attacks. The pain returns even as he's ripping out Reinhardt's throat - it returns with the glide of something smooth and sharp.

Expertly slid between two ribs with a great thrust - the last act of a dying man. He twists - a howl of pain. The metal catches on bone and sticks in sinew, the angle changed and the soft internal organs below that meaty cage are saved. He hopes.

His screams fill the Pit as he rolls onto his back - Reinhardt is still. Silent. He can only hope that he's dead, he hasn't the strength to fight anymore. He, too, falls quiet and the Pit is stunned.

They have all lost a lot of credits. A LOT of credits. This was supposed to be a swan song. An execution. A final hurrah! Chaos erupts and Harj's men are in the crowds beating down those who try to fight to reclaim their bets or try to change them. It will be a long night. Processing those who can pay and those who will be meeting with debt collectors.

Nobody rushes onto the bloodied ground tonight - they're desperate to get their money back, to protest and try to get their life savings back. It seemed like a sure bet! False! It should have been a loss!

Only the Sage who bet on Kylo to win.... And Harj who watches from his booth, have won tonight.

"Get him fixed up." Harj orders, sipping on his whisky, one arm at his lower back as he stands by the window, his fingers relaxed. The fight have proved to be interesting.

"It... could well be beyond my equipment." The creature beside him speaks. Harj doesn't look a it. He doesn't particularly enjoy the visage - a pale stretched face and all discernible features creating a personality, gender, or even an impression of an expression have all been removed.

He sighs heavily.

"We'll see to it that is changed." He looks over his shoulder.

"Get him to a proper hospital then. But watch him. This bird will sing for us again and again." Harj says quietly, a strange calm. There was something off about the fight. He truly should have died. But it was as though he had been led....

He'll fetch a good price at the auction... Provided he survives.

He watches as guards slip into the ring, a stretcher between them as they scoop up Kylo's still form. The other is drug off by the pups - the children - to take to the dogs…

~

Armitage thinks it's an interrogation room. A room for torture perhaps. Of course, Armitage could believe he might be beaten... but torture? Even for Brendol, that just doesn't seem...

Or... is it so ridiculous to think...?

There are luckily no instruments. No tools. Everything is cast in a white somehow even more clinical than the palace rooms. The light is brighter. Near blinding. It is a room without character or any objects, apart from a metal chair. Armitage shudders to think what might have been carried out in that chair...

He is fortunate that they did not strap him into it... but the doors are sealed, firmly. Clearly the door is unbreakable and there is no possible lock to pick.

Armitage has thrown himself at the doors for the past hour and all it has earned him is further bruising. So much that he has no energy... his fierce throws have slowed down to simply falling against the hard surface, over and over.

Nothing works. He's useless... he collapses at the foot of the door. Wishing Ben might forgive him…

~

"Well, on the plus side. He's not going to die." The doctor remarked, looking down at his datapad. The young man identified as Kylo Ren was sedated, strapped to his bed and tended.

He had been operated on by machines of the highest caliber, stitching, sealing the wound in his side with delicate instruments. In comparison, most of the other wounds were relatively superficial. Requiring only minor bacta treatment and a few stitches here and there. Mostly what he needed was time and rest. A recommendation the doctors suspected fell on deaf ears.

There had been concern about blunt force trauma and his brain. But the scans had come back within a range that indicated these days would not be his last. No one seemed particularly concerned about the long term, considering his profession....

Only one old man came to visit. Leaving a message with one of the young nurses to tell him upon waking. To search for the roots and to soar. May the little bird fly fast and far. Goodbye.

A message that made the young man weep when he heard it. A fearsome warrior reduced to tears over such a simple message?

Only he knew what it meant, of course. Sage had bet on him to win after all. That he would leave a portion of those winnings in the location they had always spoken of. A location that Kylo had sort of never believed truly existed.

It meant that he would never see Sage again. He had told him what to do, to disappear... To take flight.

"Excellent news." Harj says, peering in at Kylo. His eyes closed and his skin pale in the hospital lights. Black and white with shades of red, purple, yellow, and green pressed into his flesh.

"We... Noticed some anomalies in the blood work."

Harj's gaze is sharp.

"No stims?" His voice is full of barely concealed rage.

"N-no... No stims. He's clean. There's no traces, even latent ones. Very clean. It's just... We'd like to run another test, to be certain. There appears to be a match of his blood and that of the Organa line stored in our databa-"

Harj lifts a hand.

"No. No more tests. Just the ones showing clean blood."

"B-but.... If he's roya-"

"Then he will be a dead man. The Emperor does not suffer other royal bloodlines to live." He gives the doctor a pointed look. "Keep it quiet or I shall be forced to silence you by other means."

The doctor gulps. He doesn't need his many degrees and years of experience to tell him what those other means might be.

"O-of course. Will that be all, then?"

"Keep him sedated. Ready him for transport. I'll be taking him back to the Pit. His kind doesn't belong on the surface."

The doctor looks bewildered.

"Uh.... Y-yes. Of... of course."

Harj remains looking through the window at his sedated form. An Organa, hm? Curious.... A prince in his own right... If he had a kingdom left. Interesting, indeed. He clasps his hands behind his back and begins to slowly walk back to his transport as the medical staff rushes in to follow his commands.

~

The door is thrust open with a mighty force, Armitage is skidding across the floor, tossed aside by the impact of that hard object.

The door is slammed back into place with a deafening clang, and Brendol is a great beast, his look more predatory than ever. Armitage scrambles away from him, backed into a corner.

Brendol thinks that he looks so much like his whore mother in this moment. Trembling, thin and bruised and yet, the ferocity in his pale eyes...

Brendol's fire settles. Smouldering embers. He turns to face Armitage with a glimmer in his eye like a blade.

Armitage bares his teeth at him. His fists balled up. He tries to understand this quick change in his father. He came in like a storm and so fast he changes… into a deep sea, in which no secrets or threats can be uncovered until it is too late and Armitage drowns.

He narrows his eyes. He's smarter. He's better.

He stands tall. Approaching his father with head held high, despite the tears in his eyes.

"What... happened?" Armitage murmurs.

A shamefully fragile thread of his voice.

Brendol grins, showing wide set of rotten teeth.

"You should have seen the blood."

Armitage closes his eyes. He must let no emotion show...

"First his leg..."

His... leg?

Armitage's own legs tremble. A picture painted in his mind. Ben in the sands of the pit... leg burst... a pool of blood.

"Not a single man bet on him." Brendol continues. "They cheered as he lay down, and writhed like a lame dog, bleeding and squealing like how you squeal..."

Armitage opens his eyes. Staring back into Brendol's. His father has come closer. Armitage's fists are still clenched tight. Stay strong...

He had told Ben to stay strong...

"His bones were broken one by one." Brendol adds. "And he died. Screaming and in agony."

Armitage doesn't process. He... it's not...

He blinks up at his father.

A moment more of silence. He can't speak. Can't find his tongue. His features are silent even as the fresh tears stream his cheeks. Then all at once the harsh, white light of the room starts to flicker... the floor itself begins to shake.

Brendol looks down at his son with something close to sadistic amusement.

"You're lying." Armitage rasps.

His voice is a flame. His veins throbbing against his skin.

~

Brendol shakes his head. His grin only growing wider. His hand is outstretched, seeing how close his son is to becoming a consuming inferno, he attempts to sedate him...

The force wraps around his son's throat, muffling what screams would have been released. Armitage kicks as Brendol lifts him higher. Brendol can feel the waves of his agony in the force, splintering and splitting it like cracks in the earth.

Brendol's eyes flare. He’s disgusted by that youth, that poor attempt at a challenge. He waits until Armitage's eyes finally fall closed. Not dead… but hopefully not a problem for some time...


	8. You know I'd go with you anywhere

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loose lips sink ships...
> 
> Or maybe light the signal flare.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No warnings ;D

It is a rare morning of peace. Peace, but not happiness. Armitage's only comfort is Brendol's absence. A reign of tyranny must continually be enforced and Armitage considers himself fortunate not to have been brought along to witness his inhuman acts against those with enough bravery and foolishness to even lift their heads to ask for more, to ask for something better. Their executions will no doubt be carried out on the spot...

Brendol's absence was not about to be wasted by Armitage. As he sits, reading in his room, by the now-enlarged window, there are men outside, finally building his balcony. 

A weak consolation. The balcony will allow him the freedom of fresh air and the stars... but what is the air he breathes and what are the stars without Ben being somewhere near to witness them with him? 

What hurts most is the knowledge of his agony. Bones broken... 

Armitage feels weak. He feels weaker every day. He thinks he will wilt, grow feeble and dark and lifeless. He knew from the beginning, he had put too much of his heart and his hope in Ben but none else will look on him with kindness now. Never again. He's just... empty. When Brendol is in a temper, Armitage can take it without complaint. He wonders now... what was the point of this balcony if he feels he'll never look at the stars and moon again without thinking of Ben's eyes?

He is studying the anatomical and what is recreated by man, how they are connecting further, the lines between a natural and manufactured life... 

When the conversation of the builders outside falls on his ears. They're not exactly quiet. Likely they are hard of hearing from a life of drilling and hammering...

"Did you put a bet on Scrofa yesterday?!"

Armitage lowers the book with a sigh. His eyes closing, massaging his eyelids.

"What a win! Quite the sum I'll tell yer, could get some real shine from it if I wanted."

Foul things!!! Armitage's grip tightens on the book.

"That's got to be the most blood I've ever seen mark the floor of that pit. Mind, he won't win next time." 

"How's that?" 

"They’ll get stoneface next time." 

"Now that's a fight to see!" 

Armitage slams down his book. His hands trembling. Is this... all ANYONE damn cares for now?! Bloodshed and senselessness and death! Sickly, filthy disgusting things! Not the ones who fight- but the ones who observe them! 

Armitage marches to the window, not entirely sure what he intends, but if they mention the games again...

"Whatever happened to…? kriff... what’s it?"

"Ren." 

"Yeah! That's right, Ren! What happened to him?"

Armitage pauses mid step. His heart swelling painfully. He can't bear to keep moving. He wants to scream at them. He wants to break these walls with his mere voice. He's DEAD!!! He wants to cry. He's DEAD!!!!

"They got the auction today." The other says. "He'll be sold off. He's old news now..." 

Armitage frowns... there... no. That must be a mistake...

"Ren?!" Armitage comes before them.

They bow their heads, still continuing work. Eyes wide with surprise that Armitage was listening. 

They look at each other before nodding.

"That's right." Another says. "Whole city knows it..." 

Armitage trembles, the world twisting and shuddering around him. He's short of breath, no longer able to feel where he stands.

"You're sure." Armitage's voice comes numbly, but he's a landmine. He's a blaster shot. He's a supernova... 

"Definitely Ren."

~

Ben suffered a small run of losses in the aftermath of that fateful night. He hasn't been allowed the proper time to heal and his win against all odds has left him with several enemies who are happy to try to cut him off at the knees before he could steal another. Other fighters are happy to take up the dirty task, becoming mercenaries on top of everything else. 

Assaulting him as he comes out of the Pit after a fight, already burdened with fresh injuries and exhaustion. Or during the cleansing times when he is bare and otherwise defenseless... Or, more recently, trying to poison his food. Now, more than ever, he is on edge. Barely able to sleep more than a few minutes at time, paranoia keeps him alert to the detriment of his usual functionality. 

He feels like he's falling apart. A haggard, broad figure in the Pit. Dark smudges of his sleeplessness under his eyes. Listless, and weary. He fights on, but he wonders, at times - for what?

The worst blow of all, is not seeing Armitage in the crowd. He looks, searches, as often and as long as he can. But it is only ever Brendol, watching... Waiting... Waiting for him to die, no doubt. He can only hope that Armitage has somehow come to his senses, that he realizes the folly in holding attachment to a creature such as he. Even if the very thought of it makes him ache with a sorrow that drags down his head and weighs on his shoulders. 

More likely, however, is that Brendol has banned him from coming. Keeping them apart. It makes him furious - and he tries to use that anger in his fights. It's all he feels he has left. Anger and pain. Merciless slaughter. Every time he imagines it's the Emperor that he strikes down. Until one day, even Brendol does not seem to return.

There's been talk, of course. Always there's talk. Talk that he's been scorned or abandoned by the Prince - bored of his little pet battle-whore after their disastrous encounter in the rafters. Ben has sent plenty of fighters to the infirmary for suggesting anything that might be a slur against Armitage's name. The Prince's honor is still in tact and he'll beat down anyone who tries to claim differently. None of them were there that night! 

Every day closer to the auction is another day his hope diminishes. There's no one he cares to impress in the crowd. No wave of white in the wash of drab tones. No hair of flame that sets his pulse alight. The spark has gone from his eyes, his fights are mechanical. He doesn't bother with theatrics - just quick to the slaughter, eager to be out of the sight of so many eyes. Sponsors are starting to lose interest. Their miracle man doesn't put on much of a show these days. There are new fighters to consider, instead. Fresh meat. Another haul from another conquered kingdom. Ben wonders if there are any stolen princes or princesses among them. But of course, there is no fraternization. 

Truthfully, he was a little surprised to find himself on the auction block. He thought he might soon have been taken away. Rumors run rampant of Harj's diversity in business handlings. Prostitution, slavery and more profane things besides. How long does he have left? He has only just left his teens behind, surely he is marked for death, now...

He and the other fighters who were up for sale stood in a line, as if they needed another reminder that they were just slabs of meat. Just things to be sold. Consumed. Thrown away.

For hours, the professional gamblers survey the prospects. Those who run fights for their own private games and entertainment at parties consider their options for their own fights. Smaller leagues outside of the Pit are few and far between - no one seems to want to risk angering Harj, but ever the businessman, Harj allows them just this one opportunity every couple of years for them to lease a fighter. 

Ben stands listlessly, nearly falling asleep on his feet. His wrists are shackled, as are the other fighters and looped through with chains that are bolted to the floor. Precaution, he thinks, to make all these soft men and women feel safe should a fighter go feral and try to kill them. He almost wishes someone would. It would make the afternoon more interesting, perhaps pass the time a little more easily. 

He hates this, of course. Being property. The prospect of being owned... More than this, he hates being on display. His is body bared but for his smallclothes. It's humiliating under the pretenses. And not the least of which for the reason that he's not being eyed up by the gamblers themselves, but their spouses instead. Not every fighter is leased for their combative skills. He closes his eyes, wishing that by the force of his desires alone, he could disappear. 

The last shred of his hope remains, that he might be purchased by some chump. Or the chump's spouse. That they might take him for the pleasures of the flesh they think he will give them and before they know it, he might escape them. Run away in the night. He has dreams of finding Armitage, of finding him on the castle grounds, taking his hand and running away with him. Somewhere they can be alone, in peace, where nobody knows them... 

Foolish dreams. But it's all he has left. Foolish dreams and the tiniest threads of hope. Hope that he'll not end up as beast feces and that his gravesite won't be his bones laying on the floor in the dog cages.

~

Armitage doesn't need to demand where, he knows where already. He... he NEEDS to escape! He sprints through corridors, not feeling his steps. This time, no guards stop him. Brendol's paranoia has eased since he told Armitage of Ben's supposed demise. Gods, he's alive! Is he?! Can he be?! And if so, how… HOW could he have even for a single moment believed-?! 

Cascading tears blur his vision, he pants, his clothes thick and constricting. He took for a short while to wearing black, instead of white. A mourning prince.

He isn't stopped! But that's no reason for him to slow, it will have started already! Not a second can go to waste! Armitage can't lose him! Not again!!! He almost twists his ankle on the stairs, he leaps forward, his soles skidding on the floors before he bursts through heavy doors to outside, not bothering to ask a carriage or vehicle to be made ready, they'll take the main roads which is too long!

Armitage sprints to the stables, finding a white horse, one of his own by law he thinks, at least, he mounts it in one swift movement and then in a second he is galloping, bounding, racing through the street, avoiding the calls and questions of members of his father's court behind him, he's already memorising the shortcuts, he has his datapad for the transactions and he cuts through, calling for the people to make way or they will be trampled, he is breathless, sweating all over, his one chance! Gods! Please! PLEASE! What a fool he is! Don't let it be too late!

~

Finally, the pit is cleared. An intermission of sorts. 

After what feels like an eternity, the auctioneer stands to the front of the pit. He sounds the bell, a heavy thing made for the spectacle, at least that's what Ben thinks.

Auctions are to begin... Will it be an open shouting match?

An attendant begins to place tall black boxes before them. Registered bidders can place their special bidding pledges into the box....

Ben feels ill. He watches as the bid stations are put into place. Who here will buy him and what will they want from him?

He can't watch. He doesn't want to know. He closes his eyes, he thinks of Armie... How he had said he wanted to buy his contract... How he would come back.

His head droops. What if Armitage comes and he's already been sent out? Maybe if he's lucky, whoever buys him decides to lodge him here... Keep running him through the usual fighting season... Then at least, Armie will be able to find him.

He can hear the gate pulled open. Bidders will now flood the pit. Placing their bids into the boxes. He hopes it is over soon... Not knowing his fate is a special kind of torment.

~

Armitage forces his horse to make a jump, over a locked gate with a whinnying cry of alarm, but the approaching streets, Armitage realises with horror... will be too small for even his horse. He dismounts, tying the horse quickly to a post. It will likely be stolen but Armitage hardly has time or a care for that. He flies into the dark, grimy, narrow alleys, leading down to the pit.

The hand of a beggar woman claws at his cape and she cries mournfully at him in words he can't understand, but he can't afford to listen to her or stop. For Ben he must... he must continue! A group of burly men stand in his path, half hidden in shadow, arms crossed.

Gods, not now, Armitage prays. Of all times... not now. They grin and leer at him, trying to catch his cape as the woman did but Armitage is a flicker of shadow, smoke from an extinguished candle.

He disappears further and further… deeper into the labyrinth of streets.

In the distance, he can finally see the gate! The footsteps of those men are behind him... 

Armitage shakes his head, desperate, his mouth dry as he gasps for air. The last of the citizens have gone inside...

Armitage can't feel his legs, he just keeps running, keeps going, finally reaching the man guarding the gate. A man with a low brow and a surly pout.

"Registered?" He asks, his expression entirely unamused and unimpressed. 

Armitage instinctually tries to see inside... inside into the pit...

"Register identification please." The man demands gruffly, he has the beginnings of a beard, not evenly shaven. His form is round and as large as the men who Armitage knows linger somewhere behind him.

Armitage loads his datapad quickly.

"I am registered!" He challenges.

Or he... he was... 

Why... Gods, WHY did he believe Ben could be dead! He got rid of it! He'll have to register again!

His mind works quickly... the information logged back in.

 

"SEE?!" He cries desperately to the man, showing him...

The man purses his lips and crosses his arms, looking down unconvinced.

Armitage is ready at this point to fall on his knees and beg! The votes look already cast! He HAS to get through!

"Please..." he really does beg. A prince and he's begging. "please..." 

Finally the man rolls his eyes. He takes the data pad, surveying the information. It's taking too long! Armitage's fearing eyes dart to the pit.

"Alright, alright." the man finally declares in a grunt.

He gives Armitage the paper to fill. Armitage fills it in seconds. He prays it's enough... it's more than he had planned even in the first place. He is the Prince! Son of the Emperor! He'll use his father's money! He must be the wealthiest inside there! He MUST! 

Finally he is released inside, paper in hand and-

The crowds are moving back. The votes cast.

And Armitage sees those eyes. That long, thick, dark hair...

He looks so damaged! So worn! It's not fair, it's not just, not right, not… natural! Only wearing rags and chains but gods, he's here! He lives! But let him please be free! Armitage sobs aloud, he storms through the crowd like a thing made of nature’s wrath, near forcefully parting anyone in his way until he faces Ben's box.

He lifts his eyes to him. Teared eyes, but he's smiling. He won't lose Ben ever again.

 

He files his bid.

~

Maybe it is a trick of his mind. Perhaps just coincidence. Maybe he's just being hopeful. He thinks he can feel Armitage. Feel, him! Long before he can see him...

His eyes open suddenly, lifting his head, he scans the crowd, his heart beating what feels like a thousand times too often for his lungs to keep up. He shifts, the soft drag of metal on metal, his chains shifting as he strains to see beyond.... And then...

It feels as though everything stops, his eyes widening. A-Armie! His lips part, to offer a word of greeting but none come, his breath stolen. Everytime they are parted it is as if his eyes have forgotten how to see, to perceive. And everytime he sees him again, it is as though he regains his clarity. His sense of appreciation for beauty, light, and life! 

"Armitage!" He exclaims in a hoarse whisper.

A sound Armitage thought he'd never hear again, except in dream and memory: Ben calling his name. He weeps now, not out of grief, but joy, he strides forward. 

"Ben!" His voice cracks on the single name, his precious name...

His real name.

Armitage has given in his bid. He prays the gods are merciful when he knows them not to be.

Ben strains at the the edges of his chains, wishing to be as close to him as possible - his poor sobs reaching Ben's ears. He crouches down, to be nearer to him. 

 

Armitage watches as Ben bends closer, his long form, stretching to reach him, his lovely wrists chained… Armitage can barely see through his tears, he wishes he could see his face more clearly! 

"Y-you're... You're really here!" Ben exclaims breathlessly, having watched him make his bid. Suddenly it doesn't matter - none of this matters! That he came at all, that he's made an effort to bid... His own eyes well with tears, how he wishes he could touch him, reach him! 

 

Armitage presses a hand to his mouth, unable to contain himself, he comes nearer than is likely permitted. To think he could have missed it! Missed that Ben was still alive! What a fool he's been! 

"I'm here..." Armitage reassures in a gasp. "I'm here..." 

 

He reaches for Ben's chained hands... it's cruel! Inhuman punishment! Must... MUST they be chained... and after EVERYTHING?! 

"Armitage! Gods... I didn't know what happened to you!" He feels a hand fist in his hair, dragging up upright. He looks over his shoulder as much as he is able. 

 

Armitage shakes his head. Speechless. How can he... explain?! His terrible lack of faith! He will be in shame forever. A disgrace. His jaw drops as he tries to voice a warning... too late. Ben is pulled so roughly up and away from him. Armitage scowls at the henchman... 

"UP. Goods on display." The henchman growls. Ben remains standing but it does not stop his wistful gaze from landing on Armitage who, looks... Out of breath and slightly haphazard. But perfect, nonetheless. He'll always think he looks perfect. Stunning, even.

 

Armitage draws his sleeves over his cheeks. Removing the tears. Ben... his beautiful Ben! he will NOT be sold away!! 

"What a blessed, beautiful sight..." Ben says softly. 

All at once Armitage sheds further tears. He could have lost him. He thought he had lost him!

Ben wishes he could come down from this stupid platform! The fighters know better than to run or kick up a fuss... It's really more for the spectacle of it. A bit of pageantry. The true danger for the bidders, while they do not realize it, is transporting their fighters. 

Ben has watched a couple fighters returned to the pit to face 'punishment for their crime' when they disrupted their progression to new lodgings and murdered their buyer. 

Ben has no intention of doing such things, so long as it is Armitage, or so long as they do not get in his way of escape.

"I want to hold you." He says quietly, hoping none can overhear them, Armie's tears tug at his heart. He... No matter what the Sage says, Ben knows this is not just infatuation... It's not just a crush. It isn’t just for the chance of leaving the Pit behind! He'd live or die simply because Armitage asked it of him. His heart feels so full! 

 

Armitage’s cheeks heat even further until he feels scorched by Ben's sweet sun. He can hardly believe what he hears, thinking for a moment that he might have imagined it. 

“Ben…” he whispers. It's almost a plea, though he doesn't understand what the plea is for when Ben can do nothing.

"Your lovely eyes... Gods.... I wasn't..." Ben didn't know if he would ever see them again. 

Armitage stares up at him. His eyes. Coal for the fire of passion and protective, concealing darkness. He's dazed. Trying to swallow with a dry mouth. He shakes his head. He can't… this… this is...

"I... You're really here, right? I'm not... I'm not imagining it, right?" Ben isn't sure what good asking will do. He's certain an apparition in his mind would surely answer in the affirmative. All he wants to do is to put his arms around him. Cursed chains!

 

Armitage nods, a hand to his mouth again stopping a small laugh so close to a sob. He boldly reaches forward. 

Ben immediately reaches for his lifted hand, as much as he is able. His holds tight for a moment. He touches Ben's hand. A small squeeze and then he steps back before he will no doubt be yelled at for... touching merchandise. He shudders. A blessed, sweet moment before Armitage steps back. Of course... He's just... Product. For now. 

"No." Armitage promises. "I'm here... I'm here..."

 

Ben smiles, his face lowering. He cannot wipe away his own tears. He sniffles quietly. And chuckles. His life is a joke but at least... At least he has a more pleasant reason to laugh this day. He inhales deeply, tipping his head up towards the dome, hoping to shift the flow of his tears or at least let them run from his face. 

 

~

 

The bell is rung again. Ben swallows hard, his head now lowering so he can look at Armitage. He mouths the words 'it's time'. 

"STEP BACK!" The henchmen clear the bidders away from the fighters. It never ceases to amaze Ben how long the preamble to the bids take and then, how quickly the sale goes through. 

He is not the first of the line, no longer the first pick. Brendol’s guards saw to that. He shifts in his chains, adjusting the weight of his legs as he sighs, restless. When will they announce it?! 

Nobody comes to open the boxes, Harj stands behind his podium, viewing a datapad. The special sheets of paper they were given to pass their bids transfers the data written to the sensors within the bidding boxes and transmits the data back to Harj. He begins to announce winners and their chosen fighter. 

The rules, already announced, is that those who have not won are to begin leaving the Pit. Those who have successfully purchased a fighter may collect their goods once the auction is concluded. 

Armitage waits with him, his hands wringing, his feet planted as if it will stop him from feeling as if he will float away, or his heart will leap to his lips and be choked out of his body. Ben's eyes are the only beacons... but as Armitage watches these fighters be cast away, one by one... thrown away. Chained, even when released from the boards at their feet...

It seems like an eternity. Ben feels he will go mad, waiting! His eyes are closed, silently praying to whatever gods may still live... Please... please!

His Ben... Armitage can't swallow. Can't breathe. He knows he's next and he'll lose him. He feels it... knows it. He'll lose him...

"And finally... Kylo Ren.... Goes to..." He lifts a brow, looking up. Armitage Hux had not been on the register this morning…

Gods... Armitage's nails are clawing at his hands...

"Armitage Hux." His voice is a little clipped, cold. 

Armitage pays no attention to the Harj's tone. He stands tall and his face breaks into a smile of relief. He hides his hands in his sleeves, his breaths finally evening. 

Ben cannot think what it might mean, only that his eyes are open, he's grinning widely! 

"Armie!" He exclaims quietly as the winners are allowed to step forward. He could leap for joy if he was not chained down.

Armitage can only smile. He steps forward, so ready, until… Harj steps down, crossing over to Kylo Ren and his new contract holder. 

"Armitage Hux.” 

Armitage falters. His feet no longer working. He lifts his chin proudly, looking down his nose at Harj with arrogant eyes. 

"Your majesty or your highness." Armitage corrects sharply. 

Harj responds with a soft bow of his head. 

"Your highness." Majesty is a far stretch for the Emperor's son. Brendol is far from grave, even with his drinking and whoring. He'll likely live on until Armitage is an awkward gangling relic and by the time he is ready for ascension... Harj anticipates there will be other contenders for the throne. Others with more will and sense. 

“I was not aware that you would be joining the auction goers this morning." Harj continues, he lifts his hand subtly, the henchman behind Ben pauses his efforts to begin unchaining him. 

 

Armitage gulps. Watching as Harj stops them freeing Ben... those cold chains that anchor him... his heart is sinking but he looks as proud and defiant as ever. He narrows his eyes, now looking at Harj's severe orbs directly. 

"Apologies for any disruption." Armitage replies coolly. "Still... I'm aware of how competent and flexible you are..." He is too daring. How many people are afraid of this man... but he is the Emperor's son... and he will not be intimidated. "I hope I'm correct." Armitage even makes himself add. 

"Indeed." He does not miss the game the young man tries to play. Putting the forward advancement on this bid on his own ability to be flexible and competent. His eyes narrow dangerously as he smiles. 

"But, of course. What are your intentions - shall we prepare lodging for him here? Is he to continue to fight this season or are you opening a tier beyond the Pit?" His tone is conversational but Ben is suddenly wary. He notes several still figures on the other side of the Pit cage that are eyeing him with scowls. 

He suddenly feels... Nervous. Wary. The bidding... Was supposed to go another way. He swallows. Hard. Just what... Was intended? What would his fate have been if Armitage had not arrived when he did? He stares, growing pale. A look that Harj notes, a small cruel smirk on his lips.

 

"He's my... entertainment." Armitage must be careful how he phrases this. He might be the Emperor's son but Harj will do anything now, he's sure. He's well-spoken and Armitage knows... he can feel his intelligence is so very dangerous. He will see what Armitage intends even before he says it. 

Entertainment. Harj snorts softly. He bets. Which means by the time he is returned to the Pit, he'll have grown soft and fat. Weak and slow. He shrugs, lifting his hand - the henchmen free him from his chains. 

"The palace's entertainment..." Armitage corrects, likely too late. He tries to contain the wash of relief that flows over him as Ben is released from that metal. He lowers his eyes, now. His... his objective is achieved. It must be...

 

"Your father is not a man entertained by Kylo's antics.” 

Armitage is rigid. Even just a casual mention of his father is enough to make his blood run cold. He tries and likely fails not to react. His brows lower. Almost a glare.

“Though, I suspect when he returns to the keep he will properly advise you of his thoughts on the matter." Harj comments coolly as Kylo is allowed to step forward. 

Armitage didn't realise he was gritting his teeth. 

"I'm sure he'll be pleased." Armitage grinds out. "It will mean he'll stop losing money at the Pit." The corner of his lips lift at the thought. Holding his own, breathing carefully, not blinking or twitching at the wrong time... despite how unnerving this man's mysterious connection to his father seems. "Rest assured the terms of our agreement shall not be changed." Armitage keeps going, his lips won't stop spilling more and more dangerous words... loosely hidden anger... "As for father... I'd rather have what happens behind the palace doors as the business of family rather than public gossip." Armitage sneers. "I'm sure you'll understand... and that you hardly possess a loose tongue when it comes to private business..." 

It is Armitage who possesses a loose tongue and he knows it. Did... did he just threaten Harj? He isn't sure. He's sure only that his hands have made fists, his own nails biting into his palms. He must restrain himself...

"Remember the contract is bought for two years and not a day longer." He doubts that either one of them are paying attention. "You will never own him. Only lease him." This he says for Kylo's benefit whose dark eyes are upon him. So tired, so full of hope and... If Harj was a sentimental man, he might have said love. But he was not and at the last of his words, he savors the fading of those lights. Organa's son. His combat skills... His miraculous survival. Harj intends much for the fighter. This is just a minor setback. 

Ben is so near to him now... Armitage tries to stay focused. Tries not to meet Ben's eyes. 

You will never own him. Only lease him...

His heart is burning. Armitage must resist... he must keep quiet... he's doing well as it is... 

"We will see each other again... and talk further." He mutters mostly to himself.

 

Harj does not push or test. It is a relief to Kylo who has some inkling as to the danger this man could pose. He wants desperately to step between them. To stop Harj or Armie from sparring anymore. 

Ben's eyes... the myriad of emotions in them. Armitage makes the mistake of looking into them. Suddenly he is a weak little boy. Foolish... So foolish. Harj is right, he knows it...

 

"See you in two years, Ren." Harj moves away, on to the next fighter, addressing their buyer. 

Kylo turns to Armie with a grin. Two years! Better than nothing! And... At the kingdom! Will he see him more often? And... Entertainment... What will he do for entertainment?

Two years... he sees Ben's grin but he's still so angry... a darkness pressing at the back of his mind like a blaster to the back of his skull. Two years... is not long enough. It won't... can't be like this. He'll... he'll come up with a plan.

Ben swallows hard, waiting until the man has stepped away. Two years. It will go too quickly, perhaps. But two years in Armie's care is surely a lifetime compared to what would wait for him here if he lingers much longer! 

Armitage takes in a shuddering breath, finally released from Harj's watch, he wants to reach for Ben's hands.

Ben wants to hug him. It's written in his body language, how eager he is to put his arms around him, to hold him tight, to promise himself that this is not a dream… He puts his hands together behind his back lest he reach for him in front of so many eyes. 

"Entertainment, hm?" He asks, a warm, lopsided smirk. "Shall I dance for you, your highness?" He speaks in a low rumble, heard only by the two of them in the midst of the gathered crowd.

Armitage smiles... or it's almost a smile. Perhaps too small... he is sorry... he... he must banish this... they're okay! He has him! He wants nothing more except to hold him in his arms. Armitage snorts. A smirk of his own.

"I've seen you dance before..." Armitage whispers. "I'll not stop you dancing..." 

Gods... this is actually happening. He makes the smallest sound, near to a sob of sweet relief... but there are too many eyes around them...

Kylo's smile widens, but there is something more heated, more pleased... More solid in his gaze. 

"I've only got one bag, it's ready to go." He says, just as eager to be away from these may eyes and the Pit as possible. He is excited! He'll see where Armitage has lived! Where he has been shaped into the beautiful creature that he is!

Armitage almost doesn't hear him. He nods, his eyes glazed. A million thoughts make him lose focus, unable to see any island in the sea. Just the sound of Ben's voice. 

"G-great." Armitage softens. "I..." he swallows, remembering. "I didn't..." he shakes his head. How crazy it all was. "I tied up a horse but it's probably stolen..." he thinks of those men who followed him, are they still waiting? "What I mean is..." Armitage clears his throat. "We'll have to go by foot, I'm afraid."

"I'd go anywhere with you, Armitage. By any means." He grins. "I'll even carry you, if you get tired." He chuckles softly. He can hardly believe it. He's not sure it's sunk in yet! H-his... His best friend. And, he’s certain, his love....

Ben has taken him by the hand - Armitage... Seems overwhelmed. It's best to get him out of the public eye, then, he thinks. He takes him away, through the fighter's entrance... 

How many times has he had to walk through these doors? Covered in blood, having just taken another life... Gods... Could this be the end? Respite for two years where he doesn't have to murder to survive? 

He is cautious, still, crossing from the Pit to the fighter's chambers. He is wary, looking for attackers. But there doesn't seem to be any... For once. Perhaps they have been called off under the pretense that he was to be sold to those dark figures, instead. Nevertheless, he is relieved, hastening over to his corner, grabbing his bag and slinging it over his shoulder. 

His hand in Ben's... he squeezes. Just to feel... to know he's real... warm and alive. He is in the fighter's entrance, to the darkness of the chambers. To live here in fear... Ben's fate has been so awful. Armitage watches him take his bag. He looks around them. None seem to be watching... or really present. 

There are tears in Armitage's eyes. He couldn't suppress... and what Brendol told him... what he had believed. That he had lost faith and now this warm, living, perfectly formed person... full of compassion. The only one in the world who matters... 

He's chuckling. The warmest, most pleasant sound. Armitage closes his eyes but the tears still lace his lashes. It's more private here and he can't bear it... can't stand it any longer... 

His arms are thrown around Ben. The tear banished from his eye, trailing his cheek. 

"I'm sorry..." he rasps softly.

He couldn't be there. When Ben was to fight... in the fight that supposedly killed him, Armitage was held captive. He couldn't do... anything... and then he lost all faith...

"I... thought... you were dead..." he finally gasps out the words, trying desperately not to fall into crying. How often had Ben thought the same? No longer sure if he was still living or had been banished to hell, damned to fight every day and night into eternity.... 

He moves away, his hand quick to dash away the tear.

He pauses, his chuckle falling silent. Armitage.... 

Armie’s softly closed eyes. Crystaline drops forming on his lashes. Ben lifts his hands, tenderly... Gently, his thumbs smoothing just below those precious eyes, catching his tears with fingers too filthy to rightfully touch anything so divine. 

Yet how could he not? He leans his head down, his shoulders curving low to bring himself closer. 

Then, his arms are thrown around Ben. There is no hesitation, Ben's arms around him in turn, carefully wrapping him, holding him close. A shaky exhale. Oh.... Armie....

Those large but gentle arms around him. So soothing... 

Armitage needs them... him. He's been so alone. He tries to be strong. He's tried in his past. He'll never be good enough. He'll always be weak. Ben still caresses him. Long fingers. Blessed fingertips... and, of course, the sound of his voice. A calm ocean. Warm and still. 

"It doesn't matter, Arms.... We're here now. Together." Armie pulls away and Ben lifts his thumb to his jawline, catching an errant tear, clinging to that lovely skin. Ben chews his lip, if only to keep himself from leaning it and taking it away with his lips. 

For how long?! Armitage feels so deep in water, only his face able to surface to keep him breathing... Ben is the precious air. All else that separates them, the deep water. Ben's touch... why is he so very careful? Why does he think so much... of this pathetic weeping worm!!! 

This is his father's voice. He shakes it away. Shaking his head... it... it doesn't matter!!! Ben SAID so and he wouldn't lie! 

"And we should go. This place is unworthy of you." He says, smiling, offering him his hand. Up those stairs he has only seen the topside of once before... So many years ago now....

 

He brushes his closed eyes with his palms. A determined nod. He opens his eyes to see Ben's lovely hand. He finally takes it. Squeezing again. He can't help himself. He needs touch. A presence. Something... he needs Ben... Ben most of all...

For how long?! 

Almost as if the words are in his own mind, Ben shakes his head. 

"For as long as we can." He says softly. He is so aware of the temporary nature of his life. If two years is all they have together... Then he is determined to make them the best two years he possibly can.   
Armitage's eyes widen. He... he heard... 

Armitage casts his eyes down in shame. His... his grim thoughts ought not to influence... he takes in a breath. It's going to be okay... a fighter and an Emperor's son... if any two can make it... why not them? Such naive thinking, but it's all they have. That... and what's unsaid: ... love. True and deep.

He watches Armie brush his eyes. His pain, his tears... Ben wishes he could take them all away. He lives for his smile... His laugh... That lightness in his eyes, the soft creases at the corner of his eyes... All things he has seen too few times. He'll do whatever he can to change that. 

He is pleased when Armitage takes his hand. That squeeze. He smiles at him.

He twirls Armitage gently, as though they were caught in a dance before he slips before him, leading him with a spring in his step. He is spun so gently. Why should they not be children when they were both robbed of a childhood?

Armitage has saved his life, he is certain of it. He can never properly repay him... But it won't stop him from attempting it. 

"I hope you know the way!" He says as they approach those grotty old stairs.

 

Armitage does laugh this time. A light, frivolous sound despite heavy circumstances. Armie's laugh has Ben bounding up the steps. 

Ben pushes open the doors and halts on the threshold. He swallows hard, a whole different world opening before him. So many people bustling in the streets. Waste. Rubbish. Scalpers, peddlers.... His eyes widen. Sunlight. Real light, not artificial and not obscured by the glass dome!

He feels... Trepidation. A sliver of fear in the midst of his relentless optimism. 

He hasn't been a part of this world since he was.... so small. He looks back to Armie, his fingers squeezing a little tighter, betraying his own anxiety. 

For the first time in such a long time, he feels small. A strange... State of affairs.

Armitage watches him closely as they exit that world... and enter the real one. Since he was a boy... 

Armitage feels the squeeze of his hand. All the many sounds and the shifts of crowds in the tight landscape of narrow streets. He sighs softly. Both hands coming to smooth Ben's. He leads him slowly and carefully.

"If they stare..." Armitage murmurs to Ben, "it's only because I'm the prince..." 

Armitage is used to it... but Ben won't be.  
He is being foolish. He's survived so much more than an open street. Yet his foot wavers over the precipice. He feels Armitage take his hands, stepping around him, out into the world, slowly leading. 

The first step feels heavy. And the next. He doesn't want to turn back. He doesn't want to look into that maw.... 

Ben nods. He... he hadn't thought of that. He resolves that he'll just keep his eyes on Armitage. For the most part. His paranoia doesn't leave him out here, though his steps grow lighter - he still scans the pedestrians around them. It's tempting to stare at the world around him. All the sights, the sounds... So much to bewilder his senses. 

But he will keep Armitage safe. It doesn't quite register that the environment is a different one. That... Not everyone is looking for a fight or to harm.

Armitage squeezes his hand in return. Palms pressed together. Ben felt for a moment like a creature in headlights, ready to bolt away... but Armitage steps surely forward, always looking back to meet Ben's eyes... check he's still with him... they are soon walking through the streets. He's relieved when no gang seems to meet them. They're safe... seemingly.

The streets are never entirely safe. Especially for a Prince and a fighter. Without any transport it's a significant walk... but not too long, Armitage hopes. It feels longer with one who hasn't seen the outside since he was a young boy. The sun... lower than before in the sky. They arrive to a quieter district, unmolested and safe enough. The sun is disappearing. Armie's hand has not left his. Ben meets his backward glances with a faint smile, trying to be braver than he feels.

Armitage squeezes Ben's hand a little tighter as they continue into quieter territory. In the distance, up high above the dirt of the streets... towers of white can be seen.

Armitage points. 

"That's it..." he tells Ben in a hushed voice. "That's... where I live..."

Towers of white. Like bony fingers protruding from the darkness as if it means to pull the stars from the sky. He makes a sound of surprise, wonder... 

He's never seen such... a thing! 

"I..." It makes sense, he supposes in a way. Armitage is something exquisite. It should be no surprise that the place he lives might strive to be as equally finely crafted. 

Ben tries not to stare. He follows Armitage. Trusting... The awe on his face is, indeed, like a child's. His large features so charming. His already large eyes somehow enlarging further...

He hasn't the heart to tell Ben the truth: that this is not a home. It is a cold, numb, colourless prison that Armitage has now invited Ben into. How can he say so? How can he say it when Ben has lived his life, as a slave and fighter, down in the most rotten pits of hell... 

He has no other choice, truly. He doesn't mind, however. There is no one else he'd rather place his life in the hands of. He is relieved that he is not called upon to race straight into violence. 

Armitage hopes Ben will love the palace... he hopes he will find all he can in the rooms of luxury. All that he desires... he sighs. Closing his eyes. Just for a second's time before...

Ben steps before him, kneeling - presenting his back. 

"Shall I carry you the rest of the way?" He grins, a lightness in his voice, patting his shoulder, motioning for Armitage to climb on, if he wishes.

Ben is knelt in front of him. A heat finds Armitage's cheeks as his eyes roam over Ben's hunched form. 

Armitage smiles. A more quiet reflection of Ben's grin. Ben grins at him mischievously over his shoulder. He cannot deny the appeal of having answered what it might feel like to have Armitage cling to him. There is a soft warmth in Armie's cheeks - does he wonder what it might be like, too? 

If they were to be seen...

But Brendol isn't here.

Yet it's not proper... but if they stop when the guards are in sight... 

Armitage's hand laces Ben's shoulder. The one he patted. Will this be...a piggyback?! Or...?! Because he's kneeling... 

Armitage very carefully brings his legs to Ben's shoulders... it will hurt Ben's back...

He starts thinking aloud.

"Ben... I don't think... this is perhaps the best..." 

He glances up at him. Is he worried about hurting him? Ben sticks out his tongue. He is frozen for a reason he is unable to comprehend as Ben's obsidian eyes latch onto his own. Then he sticks out his tongue and Armitage's lips twitch in an upward curve, though his eyes remain tainted with concern. 

"You bought a strong steed from the yard. Isn't it worth seeing if he's worth the price paid?" He questions, reaching behind him, grabbing his legs, looking his arms around them, holding them down at his waist instead, Armie can comfortably settle on his back, arms around his shoulders, if he pleases. 

Armitage's smile grows wider.

"I already know th-" 

His legs are taken in Ben's large hands and he makes a sound that is a concoction of delight, bewilderment and surprise as his legs are pressed at Ben's waist to anchor himself, his arms flung over Ben's shoulders...

The ground disappears from his feet and he makes a small gasp of happy alarm as his arms curl tighter, laid over Ben's chest... he's so tall! So... strong! He makes Armitage feel weightless...   
"You can tell me when to set you down." He says softly, realizing, at long last, the lack of propriety. But he's selfish, and naive. And utterly smitten.

Armitage shakes his head, somewhat astounded. He smiles stupidly, holding as tight as he can without causing pain... his head rests on his own arm, his face next to Ben's in order to see the path ahead. He gives Ben what directions he can, suddenly most previous worries overcome by the the heat in his cheeks and the heat of Ben's body... he's... he's so big…

Armie's sounds of delight and surprise only seems to spur him onward. His chest broadening proudly as he stands, lifting Armitage easily. He feels so light, and so incredibly warm. 

He strides easily, chin tilted upward as though this was the most natural thing in all the world. Aside from that, there were relatively few eyes that might spy them. He enjoys the last fading sensations of the sunlight on his skin, the most precious of all prizes secured on his back. 

All too soon, however, with his own long stride and Armitage's excellent directions, those white talons of the keep are no longer quite so far away. Now they loom before them and hesitantly, Ben lowers himself to his knee so Armitage might climb free, though he is reluctant to be rid of the smooth warmth of his cheek that he had, perhaps not so subtly nuzzled with his own plenty of times during the walk.

Armitage's eyes are soon closed for the longer stretches of the way, his tight limbs loosening. He lets himself be led this time, by him. Being pressed so close... he cannot help but savour this warmth. It feels like love. It feels like care. It feels like protection. All things he has been so deprived of previously in his life. He hugs him, a sudden tiredness makes him wish that he could sleep, still held by and linked to Ben in the softening light of a gold sun. 

Still... there is no stopping the approach of those chaste, cold white columns. Towers like the bars of a cell. They are lowered and Armitage experiences a sudden wave of terribly reckless thoughts and desires. Why can't they both just run away now? To a different country... where they can hide! They could be in peace, away from the tyranny and the contracts and...

It's too late. The gates await them.

The dirt of the streets is behind them. The city opening out into pristine marble, well-constructed roads, towers and noble houses. Jewels and the prizes of architecture. No beggars live here. Only guards, rich men, higher classes, visitors, great knights, imperial soldiers and droids live here... and everything, everything... is so clean and so cold...

Every entrance to the gates and the palace is heavily guarded. Armitage is at least relieved to see the troopers rather than the red guards at these posts. They part at the sight of Armitage, though their weapons are trained on the newcomer...

"Let him through, with me." Armitage commands calmly. 

Their weapons lower to his deep relief. The gates are opened... Armitage reaches for Ben's hand. He doesn't care if people stare. If he is questioned. He leads him through. This place is quieter, but it is no less cruel. Armitage hopes Ben doesn't learn that...


	9. But the story's still the same...

Armitage tries to be confident, but as he leads Ben through the snowy doors, he is wary. He doesn't talk much, if at all. He stays close to the walls. It shouldn't be a secret. He cannot think it is unlawful... but it feels so very much like it. Ben is so tall... he's so unclean, so out of place.

Ben can feel eyes on them. Heavy, assessing. Noting. He feels like he's on auction all over again but this time, not for purchase.

It feels dangerous. He shoves his hands in his pockets and lopes after Armitage. They barely make a sound but for the heavy steps of Ben's dirty boots on the smooth tile floor.

He stares at wonder all around him - decoration on even the ceilings. Everything is... Everything is like Armitage, he realizes. Grand and beautiful.

Perhaps too much so.

His father has extravagance, everywhere they step. There is the royal library but it is for his scholars and advisers, never him. For him to open a book... to treat it with care... the thought seems ridiculous. Nothing delicate is here that cannot be immortal or that isn't woven from gold.

"Sh-should I..." Stay outside? Ben wants to ask. His whispered query is cut short.

"Nearly there..." Armitage's own whisper echoes around them, around high ceilings and hollow walls.

Ben falls silent again, trying not to slow down to note the wonderful ornate things. Many of them, he has no idea what purpose they hold. Paintings and tapestries on the walls - things he thinks of in terms of value by how long they might burn if one was freezing. There seems an over abundance of things he might need to learn but... It's only for two years. They can be background noise, he isn't here for the life that comes with being born to these ivory walls. He's here for Armitage, the young man leading him to his door.

Ornate... grand and standing so high. Created for Kings... and yet the walls can be like paper. It is likely that all who inhabit the walls have, at some point or other, heard Armitage's sounds of torment.

Armitage is ashamed of this place. Where Ben lives - what he first showed Armitage of the pit, of this world where he lived and how it compares to this palace...

It's disgusting. Overindulgent. He is relieved when he sees the door to his chambers, and is thankful that it is unguarded.

Armitage stops just outside. His eyes catch on the painting at the end of the hall in a garish, abundant, gold frame. Red and gold... the only favoured colours exhibited against the white, Armitage has noticed.

His father immortalised. He stands with an expression close to a sneer. He looks down on all who sees them with sharp eyes that never blink. Every time he steps outside his door... Armitage sees him. His cape. His thick hands.

He opens his door, letting Ben in quickly. Suddenly he can breathe again. His room feels so much larger now the balcony is there. That wall... finally knocked down. Sadly there is a lack of defining features. All so pristine... like the rest of the place. There are things Armitage has been lucky enough to forage and buy quietly, on closer inspection.

His range of scents and soaps. The powder for his face. His different shoes…

Ben steps inside. He feels... Small and too big all at once. In this whole grand place, he is less than an ant. Yet in this room, he feels like a blotch of ink - a stain spread over a pristine page. He chews his lower lip, his fingers worrying at the well-worn strap of his bag. He is dark colors. Earthen brown, dark grey, deep midnight blue. He clears his throat, trying not stare. He feels humbled. Were it not for Armitage standing in this room with him, he might even have felt humiliated.

Armitage feels Ben's eyes, taking it in. He stands motionless in the centre of his room, his eyes on the floor. He hates it. Ben must hate it. Perhaps he hates Armitage too. He asked to be freed... but this won't be freedom...

"This is incredible!" he breathes, at last, even if he doesn't dare move - afraid that he'll leave dirt and smudges everywhere. 

Armitage's lips part. He lifts his face, turning to face Ben, his heart fluttering.

"I... Oh, the balcony!" Ben notes it, grinning. He won that for him... In a way. It makes him happy. Without it, he feels this room would have been stifling.

Armitage smiles gently up at him. He sees everything so innocently it seems. Only thinking of Armitage's happiness. The balcony…

Such a view! Ben looks over at Armitage to see him smiling. His own grin broadens at the sight. Then suddenly Armie has him caught in an embrace. Ben lifts his arms, his bag slipping from his shoulder and landing with a soft thud. He puts both arms around him, squeezing gently. But then he is pulling away. Ben watching him.

His arms came around Ben before he could realise what he was even doing. He stares into space. They're lucky the builders are finished, a... perhaps temporary curtain is installed for any cold air. He doesn't know what has motivated him, truly, to pull Ben close; the knowledge they have made it here together? Ben's seeming complete acceptance of the grotesque thing he lives as? His heart throbs, and he pulls away.

He arranges his borrowed books in a small pile.

"What's mine... is yours." Armitage promises.

Sadly the promise might be restricted to this room, but Armitage will do his best.

Ben makes a face, sticking his tongue out.

"I don't need anything." He says, coming to catch Armie's lovely hands in his own. Just you. That is what is said in the soft smoothing of this thumbs along the top of Armitage's hands. He looks down at them, his pale perfect, straight fingers. His own seem an abomination in comparison. Swallowing up those divine shapes. Armitage's hands are flawless, the nails clean. He cannot say the same about his.

But it doesn't matter. Armie chose him. Somehow, for some reason... That is what matters.

Armitage stares at Ben's hands around his. He treasures that touch. Armitage's skin is like ice... ice that melts at Ben's caress. He's never been so at peace in his own room, until Ben has come to stand there with him.

Ben must... Let go. He must. He sighs, barely audible, releasing his pristine hands.

Armitage begins to remove his shoes, placing them by the wall. Sh-should Ben do the same? He swallows hard, walking over and carefully unstrapping his boots. Next to Armitage's fine shoes, his boots look atrocious. Worn, muddied, just as weathered as he is, he supposes. A colossal dark shadow compared to his almost dainty shoes. He is glad that he managed to carry him for much of the way - lest his shoes become as... 

Nevermind it. It doesn't matter. 

Armitage thinks of when Ben first brought him the caff, down below, it feels so long ago now.

"Can I get you anything?" Armitage asks, softly.

Ben could ask for anything... anything at all, and Armitage is sure he could send an order to find it and bring it to his chambers.

He turns at Armitage's question.

"Oh... Some water, please!" He is thirsty. Dirty, too - but he doesn't see any drains in the floor so he isn't sure where he might find the means to wash himself. 

"Make yourself at home." Armitage adds.

Gods... he hopes this lasts. He... somehow he hopes that... that he can find a way to have Ben here. He just needs time and cunning.

It feels so surreal. Armitage has sat on his bed and Ben makes his way over. His sweaty clothes, the dirt on his pants. He plonks down on the floor, crossing his legs, leaning over and bracing on his elbows, lest he mess the bed. He gazes up at Armitage fondly. How lovely! 

He glances over the room once more, the clean floor... Gods, he's never slept on a floor so clean before!!!

He could ask for anything but maybe he doesn't know it. Armitage would grant him anything. For him to ask simply for water...

Armitage's small smile is back. He presses a button in the wall.

"A generous glass of water to my chambers." Armitage requests simply before his fingertip releases the button.

A button, not so much hidden as simply subtle - yet Ben hadn't noticed it earlier. He watches, Armitage ordering a glass of water. His head shakes slowly - this... This seems so.... Decadent, almost comical. He grins up at Armie.

"Thank you." He says, remembering his manners, at least. 

Armitage notes Ben sitting on the floor. The corner of his lips stays lifted. Can Ben... have ever seen... anything that cleans like his bath? His shower?

Armitage is up, moving away from the bed. Ben's head turns to follow him, his eyes lingering on the back of his form. Squared shoulders, slender waist, long legs....

"Let me show you..." Armitage offers, coming to his bathroom door.

His hand reaches, perhaps an offering for Ben to take.

Ben clears his throat, getting to his feet in a rush, hurrying over to take his hand.

"Show me what?" He asks softly, noting the door - everything seems so concealed yet if he were to look at anything but Armitage, he supposes he would have noted it sooner.

He opens the door for Ben. A bathtub four feet wide. A shower cubicle. All colourless, of course, except for the shampoo and soap bottles. Shining like a set of white teeth. He leans down to show Ben... he demonstrates: finding a flannel, putting the plug in the plug hole and running in the steaming water, pouring in some of the scent of lavender.

Ben steps inside - more of these white tiles. Gleaming. Bottles of pale liquids. The only color in here, now, save for Armie's red hair and the entire dark shadow that Ben is. 

He watches. Steaming hot water at the twist of a dial! He gapes, in wonder and awe. Oh, gods.... Since that night together in the winner’s lounge, hot water cooling in a bowl on a rag, he hasn't felt the heat of water while getting clean - much less an entire... The bath is so large!

"If you'd like to bathe..." Armitage offers softly. "Or..."

Ben turns, as Armitage comes to the glass cubicle of a shower. Armitage opens the glass door, now repaired since he had shattered it, finding the dial, showing him the hot and cold temperature, before shutting off the jet.

It's more what Ben is used to, and yet, not even the best of days in the hygiene hall could possible measure to this - being sprayed with jets of ice cold water from a hose by overseers standing on ledges above you is hardly...

"Up to you." Armitage assures. "I'll take the bath if you don't..."

He shows Ben the sets of soft towels he possesses. Taking Ben's hand in his own and laying it at the soft texture for him to feel.

Ben looks at the fluffy material, towels that are sumptuous, inviting... Softer than anything he can remember. He blinks, glancing over at that scented water. The steam rising from it...

"It's too much..." He murmurs. 

Armitage didn't want to overwhelm. His expression is knowing, but always soft as he touches Ben's arm. A careful stroke.

"For me, alone, I mean." So much water! Surely Armitage can't mean for... Fo- He flushes, his cheeks growing hot, realizing....

But he doesn't wish to be parted from him just yet, either. And if they conserve the water together that means they might be able to talk! And…

Armitage's cheeks heat. Ben... h... he...

His jaw works to speak but he can't... he's saved by a knock at the door. 

Ben's cheeks have flushed the same. Yet, surely... Private bathing seems... Unrealistic. He... Was there a time when he had done such things?

There is a knock and he's alert, tension rising immediately. 

Armitage lifts a finger to his lips. He must... keep Ben low profile for now. 

Ben nods, hanging back, daring not to move, to breathe.

Then Armitage hops to his door, opening it and taking the water glass. Ice in it. A nice touch, he thinks, so long as Ben likes it. He gives a small nod and thanks before closing his chamber door again and returning to Ben with Ben's water in his hand.

He offers it to Ben, his cheeks still hot.

Ben looks stunned…

Ice! Even! It feels delicious and cool, in relation to the steamy heat of the bathroom and his own blushing features. He takes a generous sip, before offering it to Armie. Perhaps he is parched, too.

He watches Ben's plush lips press to the rim of the glass. Unsure as to why he can't move his eyes from that sight, his cheeks warm to the touch, still. The glass is offered. Armitage shakes his head. He might, later.

"I... bathe every week." He confesses to Ben. "I shower more often..." he tries hesitantly to explain. "Shortage here... isn't an issue..."

It will take quite a while for him to understand, Armitage imagines. Adaptation is never easy. Armitage only hopes he can help him as much as possible.

Yet can he truly deny Ben? He knows he ought... to do so…

"O-oh...." Ben stares at the water, the gentle coils of steam rising from its scented surface. He feels a little, disappointed for a reason he finds difficult to reconcile. Well. There's nothing for it, then. He hauls his shirt off over his head, his hands making quick work of the fastenings on his pants, dropping them to his ankles before doing an awkward shuffling step to free his legs. He doesn't know how to slow down for these things, bathing is such a hurried affair...

Armitage turns off the taps. It still... seems like so much... Oh, but what if... What if he had wanted the bath? Suddenly, Ben feels quite sheepish, standing in his underwear.

It's... moderately deep, Armitage thinks. His eyes are wide as Ben begins to strip down in front of him. Will he... he... strip the entire way?! He backs away, Ben's legs are freed.

"I'll..." Armitage swallows hard, trying not to stare at his precious, long limbs. "I'll just be outside the door." Armitage assures. "You can use anything..." he points to the soaps and shampoos, setting the flannel on the side of the bath to help him.

Ben stripped so quickly…

Ben comes to the bottles. Curiosity dictates that he will investigate them. Soap in a liquid format is something of a novelty, used to hard harsh bars of soap that seem to dry the skin more than anything else... 

"Take... your time..." Armitage advises tenderly, before heading towards outside the bathroom.

But... Ben doesn't want to be separated from him for so long! 

"And call if you need anything, at all." Armitage tells him.

Ben nods, watching him move towards the door, it clicks closed behind him and Ben shimmies out of his underwear before moving to carefully sit on the ledge of the bath. He dips his toes in, a gentle moan as the hot water nearly scalds him. Yet it feels like heaven on his weary feet. He slips all the way in, his shoulders sinking below the surface. The scent of... He moves dripping fingers to take the bottle that Armie had used. Lavender. It looks to be a flower of some kind...

As he moves in the water, dirt lifts from his skin - he IS filthy.... He sighs, moving closer to the rest of the bottles, cracking opening the lid, inhaling each scent and reading what he can of the sides of the bottles. Is he taking too long? Armie said to take his time and already it feels like an eternity. He draws a deep breath before plunging himself below the surface to wet his hair.

He selects a bottle at random, the scents have blended together in one tantalizingly overwhelming perfume. He hastily scrubs his hair, his body - what he can reach of his back, his legs... Everything until he is pink and the water is... Gross. He drains it, taking that towel and pats himself down. A towel! He has a towel he can use! How many times had he been pushed from that cleansing chamber, still dripping - hastily searching for his gear?

Armitage is settled back on his bed. A book in hand. A more soothing subject matter than his studies, a book he had to hide: it's romance and fairytale. The pages thick with wishes and forbidden hopes. For... something... indescribable and unreachable. He closes the book after some minutes. He's unexpectedly exhausted. He tucks the book at the back of a draw at his bedside before he snuggles on the bed, his eyes closed to rest, but Ben has appeared! He is so much faster than Armitage...

He emerges from the bathroom, towel tied around his waist, mop of black hair still tangled and dripping. Armitage greets him with a pleasant expression. His hand finds his hairbrush. Would Ben use it? Or is it better for him to be free?

"How was it?" Armitage inquires.

Armie's hands hold a brush. Another thing Ben has not had the use of in the Pit. Who cares about your hair when you could be dead within an hour? He feels relaxed. Soothed. Something he had not expected such a thing could come from bathing.

"Uhm... It's... It's very nice. I hope that I wasn't too long." He says, padding over. 

Armitage shakes his head. His expression so fond.

"On the contrary..." he replies.

Ben is relieved. He plops down again on the floor, his knees tucked up to his chest. Free of the dirt from travel, he feels comfortable to lean on the edge of the bed - tall enough that he can lean his arm on top of the mattress without being stretched too far. He leans his head on his forearm, gazing up at Armie, affectionately. He could go to his bag, he has clothes he could change into. His bag... But it seems too far to stray. Not when he is perfectly comfortable here, at the bed. This towel is cleaner and softer than anything he has! He wonders how he might get them clean. Not that they worried much about it in the Pit. Putting them on now feels like it will simply make him dirty all over again.

He watches Ben come to the floor. Is he cold? Will Armitage have clothes that fit? Could he ask...? Without raising too much suspicion? Unlikely. Ben's arm on the bed... his large eyes makes Armitage's pulse quicken. 

Armitage slips from the bed too soon. Did he forget something? He was sure he turned everything off!

Armitage is quick to retrieve another smaller towel from the bathroom, heading back to the space on the bed, he reaches, drying Ben's hair as much as he is able with the towel, his legs now hanging over the edge of the bed, he rubs Ben's hair between the two halves of the towel, drying the drops away.

Ben is startled when he puts the towel over his head but he is soon enjoying the sensation. He closes his eyes, gently swaying in place. Drying his hair. His hands, even wrapped in the towel, feel amazing on his scalp. He makes an appreciative sound.

Then it is set aside, that brush in hand again. He blinks at it.

"May I?" Armitage is almost frightened to ask for a reason he doesn't understand.

Ben grins. A grin Armitage gazes at. Captivated.

"I am in your hands... You can do whatever you please, your Highness." leans his head against Armie's leg.

Armitage works carefully, patiently and persistently. From the ends of every strand, a little higher each time until he finds the root. He hums under his breath. A song he can rarely recall. Something from a time he never knew. A woman's face he'll never get to see. One named mother.

His eyes drift to the balcony. Darkness falling... and starlight.

Ben enjoys his gentle strokes, in spite of the pain of his tangles coming loose. He hardly cares, pain is such a trivial price to may to be nestled so close, his lovely soft voice humming.

"You might be more comfortable in your clothes..." Armitage speculates. "But... should you wish for... anything for the night, I can try to..."

He fades off. He's not entirely sure what he'll do.

"I don't normally...." Ben replies, he has no special clothes for sleeping...

"The night can be cold..." Armitage adds, his cheeks are rose-coloured. "So... so if you like..." 

Ben tips his head back, his throat and chest bared to him as he closes his eyes, savoring his touch as Armitage caresses Ben's tresses of now-brushed hair.

"W..." Armitage makes a small breathless sound, "I... would like it... if you shared my bed." Armitage is bold enough to confess. The thought delights him.

Ben swallows hard, turning on his knees to face Armie.

Really? His lifted brows seem to ask. He climbs up onto the bed beside him, careful to keep his towel around his waist. Ben squishes at it with his hands. It's so SOFT! 

He removes his hands and the brush as Ben turns to face him. His lifted brows… Armitage thinks of that night on the rooftop. Taken in his arms. Lying together... despite being on a hard surface, so high up… That night...

Ben is on the bed and Armitage laughs softly as he feels the towel at his waist.

"It's...." He chuckles, sheepishly. "Like a cloud!"

Armitage laughter fades into a smile. What Ben wears in bed is up to him, he decides. Armitage himself begins to unclip his cape, unbutton his shirt, his brush now used to comb through his own hair…

Armie laughs and Ben reclines back on the bed, braced on his elbow, watching him as he unclips his cape. Unbuttoning his shirt... He feels the heat rise to his face once again. Ben offers to help unbutton the small buttons at his wrists. 

He gives Ben his wrists. Watching as Ben frees the skin. Lets him breathe. He feels he can only breathe when he is alone or alone with Ben. His chest is bared. He decides not to bother with his pants tonight. Tomorrow, he'll be able to think more clearly. 

He brushes his hair. Such lovely, fine silken shards. Ben lifts the covers - fascinated by the texture, unable to stop himself from rubbing it between his fingers. He wriggles underneath the covers, relieved to have such a soft place to lay down! He grabs his towel, pulling it free and drops it over the edge of the bed, it's wet and he doesn't want the bed to get damp.

Armitage's shirt having been removed, Ben has only scant seconds to note the faint latticework of scars upon his beautiful pale flesh. Like the white birds of nursery tales... Swans? He had heard other children in the Pit talk about them. He is reaching for him, to touch the history carved into his skin when Armitage slides under the covers. He blinks, settling himself, or trying to. He's so used to his hard cot, or floors…

He sees the deep orbs of Ben's eyes scan over marks not fit for his viewing. Armitage hides himself away before Ben can feel them. They... they're not fit for Ben's fingertips. Yes... Ben may have fought battles. His hands might be marked with blood... but his scars are of miraculous victory. Armitage's scars show defeat. Failure after failure, tattooed on a ghastly body. He must hide himself... he must dim the lights.

Armitage snuggles in, Ben at his side... but... the towel! It drops away...

Armitage's cheeks are a brilliant red, but he only moves deeper beneath the duvet. He reaches for a dial on his bedside, dimming the light in the room, close to being extinguished completely.

Miraculously, with the touch of a button - the lights all but die completely. Ben's eyes are wide in the near darkness. It's... He's used to more light than this. More bodies, thicker air... Yet... Suddenly he is grateful for Armitage to be so close. He doesn't know how he would go, trying to sleep alone. At least... At least this feels more natural - to be pressed in close, even though there is still so much ample space! He scoots a little closer, his hand searching in the faint light for Armitage's hand.

"Anything else you need?" Armitage whispers to Ben, his face still hot.

"No." He links his fingers with Armitage's. "I have all I need." Or want... But he doesn't say the last. He snuggles the duvet up around his neck. Everything feels so soft! So luxurious! He shifts, trying to get comfortable.

Armitage nods gently. He leaves the lamps on a low light, his eyes close as Ben shifts next to him.

Ben comes closer to him. Armitage tries not to think of... of how he is bare or he will blush through the entire night, likely being wide awake. Ben's hand comes to his own. An offer he accepts, his fingers stroking Ben's own. A comfort... this is a new place for him.

"Goodnight..."

Armitage's voice can barely be heard... but this moment is so precious…

It is relief that he feels, Armitage's fingers slipping between his, stroking gently. Soothing. He feels some of the tension slip from his body. He stares up at the ceiling. How far away it seems. Such a disproportionately large room. Tall but... He turns his head.

"Good night." He answers softly. He makes small movements, as small as he can. He's afraid now, that he'll squirm and keep Armitage awake. What is he to do?! He chews on his lip, focusing on the shifting curtain by the balcony instead. Maybe.... Maybe that will help.... But it's distressing, not to have a solid wall at his back. He knows it's foolish to be so worried of an attack and even if there were, he would have to insist on putting Armie on the wall while he took the brunt... But... Old habits, especially ones so intrinsically linked to survival are so hard to break!

He makes himself be still. It will be fine. Armitage will likely fall asleep soon and if he can't stop squirming, he'll just move to the floor…

He tries to find the warmth of Ben's body. Curling up close, even as he squirms to get comfortable. Has he ever slept... in any bed like this one? Armitage remembers those fighter's cots. The best on offer...

He hopes Ben will sleep, but it is easy for him to drop away. He needs the rest. He has to think of a way... tomorrow.

With Armitage's warmth beside him, Ben moves closer under the blankets. Blankets! They feel almost stifling, as though he cannot quite breathe. They feel so lovely and so heavy at the same time. He fears he will eventually grow used to this in the space of two years only to have to forget it again entirely.

Still, it does not stop him from rolling onto his side, scooping Armitage into the circle of his arms, his fingers trailing lightly at the side of his arm, fingers drinking in what his eyes cannot quite see - the thinnest of ridges on his skin. Scars. 

The thought of Armitage in pain... He snuggles closer, eyes closing against the burn of tears. It must be Brendol. He cannot think that any other would dare to lay a hand on their prince in this way. How... HOW COULD HE DO THIS TO HIS OWN SON!? 

Ben breathes heavily through his nose. He'll not question it. Not now. Not when the moment seems to otherwise peaceful. He only holds him a close as he dares, soaking up his warmth, vowing silently that he will protect him. Keep him safe. If no one else will treasure this golden son, then he will...

He falls asleep, comforted by Armitage's proximity and his warmth. Something he had not thought could be possible. Yet he sleeps, fitfully when he has not in so many months.   
Armitage's eyes closed, his body curled up like a cat... when he awakes, it is to the ferocious growling and barking of dogs outside.

He tenses. Sliding out of bed, he tiptoes to his balcony...

No...

No! Armitage didn't think he'd return until the day after tomorrow! They must have time! It can't be tonight...

Down below, he can almost hear just his enormous steps. Soldiers, now drunk, Brendol... His voice demanding:

"Mead! More mead! More ale! More beer! Joy tonight!"

No, no, no...

He's back at the bedside, shaking Ben both softly and yet as urgently as he can.

"Ben!" He exclaims, his eye on the door and ear listening at all times.

Ben sits up, hands groping for a weapon that is not stowed at his pillow. 

"What, what is it?" He's scrambling out of the bed. He searches for his clothes, groping at the floor, pulling them up, soiling whatever clean feeling he'd had.

"Where is my bastard?! Where is the twerp?! You- tell me! Where is that boy?!"

Armitage winces, the voice below them... booming. The sounds almost shake the floor. The stomping of feet, thundering up the stairs...

He can only give Ben an apologetic look. Breathless.

"Father... is back." Armitage needlessly admits.

Ben is dressed - hearing Brendol's voice - he doesn't need to guess. He's pulling his boots on, seizing his bag. Shit! Where does he... where can he...? 

His heart is racing.

Armitage is searching. Will Ben have left anything? Anything that could indicate...

"Go." Armitage begs. He swallows hard. Perhaps the only way to...

Their eyes fall to it at the same time.

"Use the balcony." Its Ben's best hope. "Stay in the shadows... there are too many soldiers here."

He nods, hastily stepping to Armitage.

Ben is close. Another uncertain goodbye… Armitage isn't sure how many he will be able to stand. 

Ben casts a lingering glance at his lips before pressing his forehead to Armie's for only a second before the straps of his bag are over his shoulders and he's slipping over the railing of the balcony, charting a path as he goes, too large boot toes trying to stick on the wall.

The task of surviving depends on his hands now, for the most part, his strong fingers gripping at the crevasses in the wall. He looks up. Armie's window.... Gods.... He is covered in sweat by the time he reaches the ground level. He ducks into shadows, and waits... What is he to do? Where ought he go?! He waits, crouched in the shadows, tucked into shrubs near the wall. 

"Please, be safe..." He whisper, unsure why he is so shudderingly close to the edge of panic.

Ben's forehead at his own is the briefest and sweetest of touches. Then he's gone. 

 

"I'll find you..." Armitage vows under his breath, watching Ben disappear with a heart now as heavy as iron.

He won't break another promise. 

The door bursts open only seconds later. Armitage runs from the light of it, the lights of his room are turned up to a harsh, bright level that makes his eyes sting. 

Drunken soldiers cackle outside his door. Armitage swallows hard, watching Brendol storm in, as tall and foreboding as ever. He hangs his head. Brendol has seen the balcony. Instantly... and the dirt too. 

Armitage will think of Ben. Only of Ben.

"Father." He addresses numbly, his eyes on the floor.

The soldiers chuckle to each other, perhaps seeing Brendol wound up, about to strike. 

Armitage feels those fingers grip his face, his chin. He'll not lift his eyes. 

"You'd best have an explanation for that." Brendol snarls, gesturing to the balcony.

"I paid for it." Armitage whispers. "My own winnings..." 

As if that will make a difference. Brendol's stony arm flies against Armitage's face, knocking him off his feet. The soldiers laugh raucously.

Ben wills himself to be silent, fingers curled into fists, hearing the door bang open.

Armie...

His heart pounds, his legs burning, the need to move... He can't. Armie said he would find him, but...

He hears peels of laughter. Gods... What... What could be funny? He tips his head up but he can't see anything from this angle yet he dare not move lest he be discovered.

He doesn't know the grounds. He doesn't know what to do but to stay close....

More laughter. His fingers clutch at the straps of his bag, the bands of leather cutting into the flesh of his palms.

Why are they laughing?!

He hears a crack, something tumble... Three floors up and he can still hear it...

His chest heaves as he tries to stay silent. Oh, Armie... Oh, no! What... What has he done to him?!

This, he knows immediately, is his fault... He's gotten Armitage into trouble and it wasn't even his fault!!!

"Winnings, you say?!" Brendol announces to his audience, spreading his arms. "I heard another little rumour just now about your... winnings." 

Armitage is turned away on the floor, his eyes on the stars, but then Brendol's hand is at his hair, he's dragged closer to him despite how his legs kick.

"So... where are you hiding him, mmm?" Brendol growls in his ear. 

Armitage shakes his head, still trying to twist from his grasp. 

"Hiding who?" He snarls back, his teeth grit ferociously, despite how he feels like a rabbit in a hunting trap.

Ben... 

"In your bed?!" Brendol jeers. 

One of the soldiers starts to search... 

"No." Armitage spits. 

His fire is not something Brendol tolerates. His hand is at Armitage's throat before Armitage can do a thing to stop him. The soldiers are whooping and making the sounds of those who might be enjoying a circus show rather than a scene of a father choking his son. Armitage claws at his arm, but he is being brought towards the balcony...

Gods! Let Ben have escaped... let him not be seen...

He air cut from his lungs is luckily something short-lived, he's lowered back to his feet, only to be pushed against the balcony railing, at risk of toppling below...! His eyes are wide, he struggles against Brendol, only for his lower back to dig further at the edge, his torso bent backwards, unstable, his feet ready to give way... 

"YOU THINK IT'S GOOD FUN TO DISOBEY ME, BOY?!" 

Armitage shakes his head, frantically, trying to squirm away...

"Stop." He rasps. His eyes dare to lock onto his father's. "...Stop..."

Ben hears something above him. He looks up, lips parting. He can... He can see the outline of Armie's head. His shoulders! He puts his hand over his mouth to stop himself from yelling.

Brendol yells instead.

Disobey him? He can't... Can't just sit here! Not... What if he?!

He can't stay here. He can't just sit and do nothing!

He rises, still half crouching, inching slowly along the wall.

What can he do?! If he tries to address Brendol directly he is only likely to get Armie into more trouble and himself killed… He refuses to hide. Refuses to let Armitage suffer because of him. He said he wanted to protect him... He's already failing to keep him safe.

He grits his teeth and jumps out at the next patrol, swinging his bag into the armored face. It’s harder to fight armored guards with bare hands but he’ll do his best. The guard on patrol shouts in alarm - and it’s on… Grunts and the sound of blows exchanged. A call for more help… He hopes… It will be loud enough! He wrangles the guard’s arm, giving it a vicious twist and a sharp pull. There’s the sound of something popping or cracking, either way the arm moves far more freely than it ought to - and with each twist - his cries of agony grow louder.

Brendol presses him closer to the edge, so close Armitage's feet just lose footing. His breath catches, he thinks he will collapse over the edge...

When Brendol throws him away from the balcony, back into the room. He lands with a smacking sound, his hands and knees bruised, but still grateful. The fall... would have been worse.

"What ELSE are you going to take and build?!" Brendol roars at him. "Your own palace?! You and that filthy thing you're so fond of?!" 

Armitage's hands make fists.

"You told me he was dead." A whisper.

"What was that?" Brendol snorts.

"YOU TOLD ME HE WAS DEAD!!!" Armitage screams, his arm outstretches and the force knocks Brendol... only a couple of paces back, but it is enough... for his massive body to hit the side wall. 

The soldiers fall silent. No more laughter now...

Brendol stares. Disbelief... and then...

"UGLY WRETCH!!!"

Armitage is fleeing as if it will do any good, he trips over his own feet, he throws himself through his bathroom door, intending to lock it, but Brendol's touch in the force compresses on him at all sides, his feet slap and squeak on the floor as he keeps trying to run but moves nowhere as he's lifted further from the floor. Nothing to hold on to...

Brendol storms towards him, he pulls him close, Armitage kicking and crying... Hanging on an invisible noose. 

Time to be numb. Time once again to feel numb... To fade away...

Outside there are sounds. A commotion... Soldiers calling out. One of the guards in the room looks down from the balcony. 

"Your majesty?" He addresses Brendol.

Brendol is busy- he is suffocating his own son. Armitage knows well enough how it feels. He'll black out soon. The pressure in his head expands. He'll stop feeling soo-

Brendol has slapped him on the floor. His thin limbs struggle not to shake. He tries uselessly to sit... Or stand. 

Brendol joins them at the balcony. 

Armitage knows even without seeing it: Brendol is smiling. 

It only means one thing.

"B...Ben..." Armitage rasps. His eyes sting with tears.

No...

"Keep care of my son... Send whoever you need to restrain this... Pup..."


	10. Chapter 10

Ben struggles - he manages to sink a few good punches into the faces of the guards but there are too many of them and he's not in top form. These last few months have been hard. The wind is knocked from his lungs, leaving him gasping as he's assaulted. When they get him to his knees, they drag him backward, legs dragging in the dirt. ****  
** **

"Imbeciles!" He howls. "You’re weak! You hit like a bitch!" He tries to enrage them - to drag the attention away from Armitage up on the balcony. To try and get Brendol’s attention. He spies a sliver of that balcony. He no longer sees Brendol's form at the edge, none with poor Armitage being forced over it. That’s better than nothing. It makes the pain worth it. ****  
** **

"Where are you taking me?" He demands, perhaps he’s gone too far but he knew he had to do something to create a distraction. ****  
** **

Someone drives a boot to his groin and he wheezes, his lips are swollen - growing thicker moments after someone's fist crashes against it. ****  
** **

"Shut the fuck up!" One snaps. ****  
** **

He smells something strange. Something he's never smelled before... He thrashes violently in their arms - a building takes shape overhead as they drag him forward. Livestock. He sees livestock. Or horses...? Maybe? He's seen pictures of them. More beasts that bets are cast on, like him. ****  
** **

He's thrown into a cell of wood and iron bars, sprawled on the ground. Hay sticks to blood on his chin, the curve of his brow.  He rolls onto his back, gasping. The door is slammed shut.

  
~

****

Brendol spends the next hours in drink and revels, with the knowledge that both his useless son and that wretched fighter are contained and guarded... he puts himself first... ****  
** **

Drinks and whores... drinks and whores... ****  
** **

Laughter and entertainment for himself and his men. When he's finally satisfied... and the majority are sleeping, he asks to be led to where that dog of a man is held. Exactly where an animal should be- he comes to the barn. ****  
** **

A nasty... stinking... shit hole. ****  
** **

He groans. He's tired too. This shouldn't take too long. ****  
** **

He comes outside the bars. He doesn't bother to look inside. He knows the hound is inside. He spits down in his direction. ****  
** **

"Evening..." he jeers. He's half tempted to take a piss. It would add to the smell. ****  
** **

Ben looks up - he's been trussed up, ropes pulling his arms behind his back. His legs, bound together. His eyes are wide. The Emperor.... ****  
** **

"Comfortable?" Brendol grins, delighting always, in the suffering of others far lesser than himself. ****  
** **

"Never better." He scoffs, in spite of the way his head throbs, the aches in his ribs and the cooling, itching sensation of blood drying on his skin. ****  
** **

Brendol sighs. The kid still has spunk... he remembers Kylo... or his son's reaction to him, at least, from when they were children. Somehow, he remembers the day he slaughtered the pauper prince, the boy’s father. ****  
** **

Brendol’s nose wrinkles in distates. His hand plants against the bars, making them vibrate. ****  
** **

"I'm not going to waste your time or mine." He slurs. "Let me give it to you straight. First option: you rot alone in a cell. I imagine you'd be used to the dark... and the chains.” ****  
** **

Ben swallows hard, looking back down at the hay around him. There's fire in his thighs where the rope is too tight.  ****  
** **

“Or... I could just give you back to good, old Harj..." He peers inside, this time... eager to see his reaction. "Im sure he'd take care of you as well as he has so far." He chortles. 

"Harj abides by contracts!" Ben spits blood on the hay. Harj won't take him back, not a day before the contract is finished. 

Brendol shrugs.

"You underestimate the reach and persuasive powers of an Emperor, little mutt." 

Ben shakes his head.

"You underestimate Harj..." He mutters under his breath. 

Brendol pauses. A pout... the closest thing to an expression which is thoughtful.

"Maybe." He admits. "Or maybe just from your perspective." One of Harj’s gladiators would think him a god...

"Though.. you could always just work." He grumbles. "In this barn." He smiles a crooked smile. "Your new home." He turns to the side... and his cape covers him dropping his pants.

He considers the last option. Work in this barn?  It can't be that hard. He could... Make his way to Armitage. It isn't that far to climb... He can use the shadows at night.

Brendol relieves himself... as he had previously considered.

"What..." Ben hears him pissing and stares at him. "Do you want me to do? What work?" He asks softly.

Brendol frowns down at the little puddle he's made.

"Well you'd live with and feed and wash and clean up the animals. The horses especially. I need my horses..." he pulls up his pants. "Feed the pigs... clean the pig shit... Butcher the ones for eating for when the kitchen staff comes along to collect..." he snorts quietly to himself. "It doesn't take a genius, little mutt."

Essentially, he'd be a farmer's boy...

"Make a mistake... and you'll be punished." He adds. "I wish I could say you'll be offered rewards for being good but..." his head tilts to one side. "You'll probably just live here for the rest of your miserable life if you're lucky enough." He kicks, drowsily at the bars. "That's your reward, pup."

Work with the animals. It's... Not....  He keeps his face low, hair hanging. It's not a punishment. Not to him. Not... The pain of killing beast and man and woman every night for entertainment... Not the pain of being injured. It's almost a paradise....

Brendol notes the gladiator's silence.

"Birdy." He prompts. He nudges the bars with his foot. "Am I getting the answer we both want? Or shall I just throw your head on the executioner's block for fraternising with my son?!"

He speaks of the executioner's block. Ben can't... He can't accept that fate! Not and leave Armitage alone here.

"Yes." He agrees. "I'll tend the animals." He whispers, trying not to sound too grateful or too elated - lest the Emperor change his mind.

"Alright." Brendol mumbles. "Good."

He leans down... eyeing him carefully. The lower he crouches, the more Ben can smell the reek of alcohol on his breath.

"But don't take this lightly..." he murmurs. "If you put a toe out of line, the toe will be cut off, you hear? Maybe more."

He sighs. Life or death for this pup... it doesn't really matter to him. At least he can win bets again at the games.

He threatens and Ben snorts softly.

"Of course." He says quietly. How could he agree to anything else?

"Let him out." He tells the guards. "But if he causes trouble again..."

Ben lifts his head.  He can't wait to stand.

The Emperor doesn't need to say the rest. There's an affirmative nod from one of the helmets as Brendol wanders away.

"The prince won't see you." Brendol adds, over his shoulder. "And you will both be punished if he tries... I'll promise you that." He strides away.

He is relieved that the Emperor leaves. He draws a deep breath, waiting for the guards to open the door. He'll try not to fight them. He can do this... In spite of what Brendol says... He can't watch him forever…

****

~

****

The work is hard. But not the worst thing he's ever done. He finds moments of peace, grooming the horses. Short lived. Moments of sadness are not far behind, when he sees how they are beaten and with only limited resources at his disposal, there's only so much aid or relief he can provide. Most of the horses, he comes to realize are handshy of those who come to collect them.  He finds pride in the fact that they are quieter around him. That they let him work around them without anxiety.

The pigs are easier to tend. Though he fears being knocked into the pens. He does not want to be devoured. Still, he keeps feeding them on a set routine lest they give into hunger and turn on each other. A careful game of balancing the feed that is allotted. Brendol doesn’t seem to care much for the pigs or if they are fed with how seldom he approves of feed to be purchased for them.

The other beasts are simple to manage. It's almost pleasant, were it not for the fact he is kept so far from the castle. From the barn, he thinks sometimes he can see Hux’s balcony.  And the star in his sky, the glorious beacon... Armitage... Is absent in his night.

He tries to get word of what is going on - how is Armitage doing? The answers are vague, most people have nothing new to tell him that he hasn't already guessed.  Still, it doesn't stop him from trying to find out. The more days he yields and the more compliant he is - the less he is harassed. Not entirely left to his own devices but the guard patrols are getting fewer and more spaced out. Only one beating a day rather than six...

Soon, he thinks he may be able to risk it, to sneak away in the night and make his way up that wall...  He's determined to see Armie, to let him know that he still cares. That he’s still here.

****

~

****

Armitage's life is as cold and colourless as ever. He no longer attends the gladiator tournaments and after what has happened, Brendol no longer minds him missing them. If anything, it seems he's relieved.

It means that Armitage is confined to the castle, once again. He's rarely allowed to leave study rooms and his bedroom. None speak to him, either because they are scared or because they hate him.

He has demanded what has happened to Ben, since his father will say nothing.

He finally had word… A slip of gossip in passing some servants tidying his room. Ben's in with the livestock. Armitage has tried to step outside and he's been stopped, once again.

He feels he ought to be made of stone, like the great statues that line occasional hallways. When his heart does not live with him... he has no heart.

He returns to the lifeless pages of books... the only offering of colour, in the abstract sense. He still doesn't manage over the weeks to forget where he is. Every day is a lifetime...

He feels so numbed... so empty and lonely. He could just blend in... against the hardened walls. He could disappear into the white marble and ivory…

The balcony is an escape... the dream of it, at least.

He can name the constellations...

Sometimes, he can even hear the city. People... real people who are neither rich, nor slaves. Markets... and trade.

His view over the gardens...

He imagines flying...

He prays that his father won't destroy his precious balcony... and that his father won't throw him off it... after what happened the last time.

Despite how slowly time passes, it does not seem that the memories of that night are very far away.

He's tried multiple times to get past the guards.

Once... he even tried to drug them.

One of his father's whores drank from the bottle instead...

Armitage was locked in his room for the whole of the next day without food.

Other times, he has tried to sneak past...

But that has never worked. He is always caught and dragged back. It's only a matter of time before his father loses his temper again.

Armitage can only just glimpse the stable from his balcony...

But he can never see Ben...

Perhaps that figure, he sometimes thinks? But usually it's too hard to see. He might as well be trying to make sense of the shape of a wisp of cloud.

****

~

****

It's going to be soon... He's settled the animals. The stalls are cleaned, they're fed and given clean hay.  His own stall he has neglected in favor of preparing. He has been using the railing at the top of his cell as a means to practice his pull ups - he uses his space and relative privacy for the chance to work on his fitness.  To get back to his old form of peak performance.

Harder, without adequate nutrition but even with the challenges here - it's more readily available than it had been in the Pit. And he doesn't have to kill anyone.... But it's slow, even though he pushes himself - to attempt the climb without training... He'd fall and he'd be dead.

No. He couldn't risk it. Can't leave it to chance, even if he wants nothing more than to see Armie again. To hold him…

He is careful. An interloper.  He's had to spend nights, crouched behind barrels, shivering and aching in the cold - memorizing the patrol patterns. Finding which guards were more diligent and those who are lazy and uncaring of their duty.

Finally, Ben has prepared enough to begin attempting the journey. The first night is not successful. Making his way there is no easy feat. It's slow. Too slow. The sun will be up and his window of opportunity is too small. He can't risk being in his progress up or down the wall in the light of dawn or he’ll be too visible.

If he's caught, he's certain it will mean death.

Or worse. A life of anguish, knowing Armitage is made to suffer just as much.

Tonight then, he’s decided. He's more bold. He's made parts of this journey countless times by now. It feels like victory, to touch the stone of the wall. A moment he cannot celebrate for long. He has to hide, a few more minutes for the next patrol to pass.

Then he's up. Beginning his perilous journey up the stonework. He's slipped his boots off, tied their laces together to throw over his shoulder so he can navigate the stone with as much dexterity as he can.

By the time he thinks he can grab the balcony railing, his limbs feel as though they burn from the inside. His toes are blistered and his fingertips are bleeding. He makes for the reach. 

He grips the railing tight and begins to haul himself upright. He shudders, willing himself not to drop but even with all of his planning and training - it's still demanding on his body.

 And he's exhausted. He makes a small sound of alarm, uncertain if he can actually pull himself up far enough... If he can truly make it!

****

~

****

Armitage can't give up hope...

But it feels like so long. He's lost so much will... to even keep studying. He's fallen asleep, the book loose in his fingers...

He jolts awake at a sound. Instantly he is frightened. If it's a guard... his father...?

His eyes widen as he realises such a sound has come from… The balcony!

He leaps from the bed. A figure-!

He claps a hand to his mouth. Not just a figure...

"Ben!" Almost a squeak .Such a small and frantic sound! Ben wants to respond but his teeth are clenched around the sounds of his struggle.

Armitage  rushes to his arms, to catch them. His own, skinny arms reach to try and pull him...

"Hold on!" He begs in a desperate whisper.

Gods! How...?! Oh gods! What if he's been seen?! What if-?! He can't even think of that. He's here! Ben! He's here!!

Ben tries to pull himself upwards further so he can get a foothold but his muscles are fatigued. Three stories straight up and across and they're shot - the downward pull of gravity is too strong.

"A-armie!" He whispers, desperate, eyes wide. He can't have gotten this far... Can't have... can't see him now for a brief moment, only to fall to his death! 

"T-the f...!"  He tries to hold on but his fingers are beginning to slip…

Armitage has to think fast... his hands alone won't hold him… Yet he fears using the force! He fears making a mistake! He grasps his duvet, flinging it over the edge...

"Quickly!" He urges. Oh gods... if it rips… It can't. It... won't… He doesn't want to… What if he drops Ben?! He's not so experienced in the force yet... he... he has such little control!

Ben whimpers -  the blanket?! He can't risk letting go... He tries to force himself - to use his will alone to keep his aching fingers clamped around the railing.  If he could hook his elbow- but there's no point. He can't risk it! 

"Armie, please!" He whispers, a note of panic in his voice, desperation in his eyes.

Armitage’s breath catches, a gasp of terror… No, please! He winces... his hands outstretched. Let it be enough! Oh gods, please! Let it be enough!!! Tears of panic escape his eyes... his fingers trembling. He feels something... but is it...? Is it enou- 

Armitage exhales shakily. Gods...

What just happened?! Did it work?

Ben feels a subtle lift around his body - an energy flowing over his form. Steady enough to give him the boost he needs. With a small, pained sound and his body supported, he's able to haul himself up over the edge.

He flops over onto his back, his chest heaving as he lays there for a moment, trying to collect himself, to remember how to breathe - he realizes how much he had been holding his breath.

"A-armie!" He whispers, his dirty hand reaching for the toe of Armitage's slipper.  Oh, sweet stars!

"O-Oh gods, Ben!" He kneels, gathering him onto his lap, his arms come around him. 

"Oh gods... what have you done?!" If... if he's found!!!

Ben can't help but grin as Armitage pulls him to his lap.

"Came to see you!" He beams, now that the immediate danger of plummeting to his death has passed. He tries to collect his breath, to stretch and flex his arms, his hands. He thinks he might never be able to straighten his fingers again. He groans softly with the ache - trying to shake it from his limbs before he's struggling to sit up, to embrace Armitage in turn.

Armitage laughs, breathlessly. The only thing he can do, to stop himself crying. He so nearly lost him! His quiet, desperate laugh is shared between them. Ben can barely believe what he's done.

But he's here now... In Armie's embrace and that makes it all suddenly worth it... He holds him in turn, delighting in his warmth...

"I'm sorry it took so long!" Ben breathes, searching Armie’s face, inspecting him as if for evidence of mishandling. "I've missed you! I've missed you so much!"

"I've missed you too!" Armitage shakes his head. He holds him tight. He had no words... only tears of relief and terror and joy… He hushes him, gently. His skinny arms are protective around him. His face falls...

"Ben, this is suicide..." Armitage whispers, as he's consumed by the despairing thought of them being discovered…

Maybe it _is_ suicide.

"I'd die a million times just to see you again!" he exclaims in a whisper. Armitage shushes him more harshly.

"Don't say that!" He pleads. "Don't ever say that..."

Ben grins at him, more happy to live in the moment. He still grins. More widely as they move closer together.

He can't bear it...

"How are you going to get down?!"

"Climb?" Ben shrugs. It doesn't matter! He rocks him gently in his arms. He's so... Relieved to see him. Armitage lifts a hand to his brow. The fool! He doesn’t think Ben will be able to get down… Armitage has to find another way for him. Somehow. He whimpers, softly, his lips press at Ben's shoulder as he nuzzles his face there.

"Gods..." Ben is so dirty… "Come on..." Armitage tries to lead him to the bathroom. If he leaves the evidence of the outside world, in this room…

Ben follows him meekly.

"We do not have..." proper showers. He works with bucket and scrap cloth to try and get clean.

"Sorry!" he whispers hoarsely.

Armitage runs the tap.

"No need to apologise..." he whispers. He's the one who's sorry! He's sorry he lives in so spotless an existence and he can't allow dirt from out there to… He finds a cloth. He wets it with warm water before he cleans Ben's feet and hands.

Ben tries to protest, cleaning his filthy hands and feet is... It's not fit for his hands to take such a task!

"I-I can do it…” 

Armitage shakes his head. Ben deserves stillness and rest when he can… He inspects Ben’s hands, they’re blistered! Bloodied! Armitage winces. Luckily, Armitage has accumulated something of his own temporary medical kit for such circumstances...

He brushes down Ben's pants, his hand following the curve of his behind as a flush finds his cheeks. Just so that he can sit on the bed without staining it... he cleans off his long legs. All the basics. There might still be traces, but Armitage can find a way to clean or hide them.

He finds a soft towel, to pat him dry. Ben’s own cheeks are flushed.He glances down. Armie's face. 

He looks up at Ben... his eyes are soft. That adoring look makes the climb, the ache, all of it, worth it.

"Oh, Ben..." He risked everything. Armitage gathers his bloodied fingertips. He finds the medkit... beginning to dress and bind them. Ben watches with fascination as he tends his fingertips. Then Armitage tends his feet… He longs to lift that long hand to his lips... but he doesn't.

Ben crouches, taking Armie's beautiful fingers.

"How have you been?" he asks, softly. He doesn't want to spend their entire time together with fussing over himself. He hardly cares about his injuries in the first place.

His tone of voice, the touch of his hand makes Armitage smiles gently.

"I'm the Prince." He smooths Ben's hand with his thumb. "What could be wrong?"

A complete and utter lie, of course... but Ben's struggles have always been worse. Armitage has no right to complain. Ben frowns at him. He's seen what Brendol is like...

"I've thought about you every night. Every day." He breathes, his fingers smooth over Armie's hands. Armitage stares... rendered speechless for a moment as his pulse begins to leap. 

"I've been worried about you. I can never get any news..." Ben whispers.

"How have you been?" Armitage returns, his eyes reveal his concern.

"It's so much better here than in the Pit! Armie! I'm working with the animals." Ben grins.

At least there's... something of good news. Armitage's face softens at Ben's expression. He's so happy to see that stupid... happy grin.

"Apart from being kept away from you... It's been great. Thank you." He means it. If Armitage hadn’t appeared like a miracle at the auction… If he hadn’t won the bid, well he can't entertain the thought - he’d have been destroyed.

Armitage shakes his head.

"Don't thank me..." he pleads. He... he may have got Ben out... but Ben's world is still full of danger and until this night, Armitage couldn't reach him! 

"I've tried to get to you..." Armitage whispers. It's hardly enough.

Ben smiles softly at Armie's whisper - so they have been trying to get to each other this whole time...

"It's a start, though!" He squeezes his hands gently. "We'll find a way. Closer than..." Than they've ever been…He's so full of hope. Armitage wishes he were, too. Perhaps the years have taught him to be hopeless.

He had a hope once, to find his mother. Such a search led him nowhere and to nothing but rumours. All the rumours pointed to one conclusion: his father killed her.

Armitage can't be loved by anyone, he thinks... or maybe his mother would have lived. Ben is... Ben is in more danger than he realises. Armitage chews his lip.

"Of course." He answers, lovingly, despite all of his doubts, his true beliefs. He wishes he could be a child again. Hope comes more easily to children.

He leads Ben back into his room, guiding him towards the soft bed. The last time he had Ben been here... Had been the last... That night his father came home.

"Can I get you anything?" They've allowed Armitage to have food, again.

"No, I'm... I'm good. Don't want to be any heavier for the trip down." He grins, sitting on the edge of the bed, his eyes are adoring, watching Armitage. Though concern bleeds into that cocoa gaze - he's thinner... Almost too slender.

He is undeserving of the look Ben gives him. That tenderness... he can see worry in his eyes that saddens Armitage. He wishes for Ben to see nothing of the bruises on his arms.

"Are you... Being taken care of?" Ben asks more gently but with more urgency.

Armitage nods. He has to find a way to change the subject... quickly...

"I've just been studying." Somehow he doubts Ben's true interest in studies that even Armitage can grow bored of.

"Armie..." He reaches for him. "You can talk to me...You don't have t-to...." Hide.

Armitage looks away, still giving his hand to Ben's. What does it matter? It doesn't make any difference except to fill Ben with worry and regret...

"You were a fighter." Armitage tells him firmly. "Whatever you've lived through... is worse than the complaints of a prince." A worthless... prince. He deserves what he gets... so long as Ben is unharmed. But now he's here…

Ben tugs him closer.

"It's not a competition." He says gently, putting his arms around his waist, looking up at his face though he has turned it away. He selfishly moves closer. He feels so bitter... and it's not fair. Ben deserves better. So much better...

"Armitage..." He wishes... "What if we were to run away, one day? Together?"

Armitage makes a small sound... drenched in dismay.

"We'd be on the run for the rest of our lives..." And yet it is something that Armitage has spent nights dreaming of. Still, he's torn. He... he's supposed to rule this place…

He knows that. He's not... _entirely_ stupid... 

"I know..." He whispers. His hands gently rub at the small of his back - he is so slender...  "I know that... But..." At least they'll be together.

"When my father is..." When Brendol is dead…

"Armie..." A warning - to speak in such a way is treason and who knows when Brendol's drinking and bad habits will catch up with him?!

"One day... I'm going to rule here." Armitage vows. "And it will be soon..." He's not sure how... but he's not going to let anything get in his way once he's sure he can finally do it... finally end it…

"Arms... How do you...? What...?"

"Then... we can be together..." Armitage promises. "An Emperor does as he wishes..." Armitage turns to look at him. Full of guilt... full of desperation.

"It's the only way..." His tone pleads... not with Ben, but himself. He HAS to do something. He's dreamed of this, too... of making his father bleed. Just once... just once! Tears find his eyes. What a horrific thing to wish on the only relative he's ever known. A sinful... greedy son…

It's frightening... He'll be...

"Armitage... I... Just come away with me... I'll look after you." He promises. "It might not be a fancy and comfortable but...." He stands, those tears.... He reaches to put his fingers under his eyes, to catch them.

"Give me time..." he implores. "Just live in the barn a little longer..." he begs. He... he can solve this…

Ben snorts softly.

"I don't care about me... I'd live in a barn or under the stars forever but... You... This..." He gently puts pressure on his back, the ribs he can feel through his shirt.

"This is... Concerning."

He feels that large but gentle hand line his ribs... the tension in his back. He sighs, softly, his eyes coming closed.

"It's my destiny."

All princes are destined to take the place of kings…

Ben hangs his head. It isn't fair.

"But you never asked for it..." He protests.

His hand lifts, to cup Ben's cheek. He tries to meet his eyes.

"A little longer..." he bargains.

_Just a little longer…_

"A little longer..." Ben agrees, finally, he can't force him.  He makes himself grin.

"I'll be stronger. If I have to climb that wall to see you every night." He brushes that red hair back from his face.

Armitage smiles, despite his doubts.

"Ben... you have to stay safe..." His teeth line his lip. Fear…

"Always." He grins, young... Full of the youthful and nearly insane feeling of invincibility.He sighs. "Well... I'm here, now. What shall we do?" He hopes to change the subject.

There's not much they can do... Armitage thinks. How he can entertain someone like Ben with books is...

Armitage looks down at his hands. It's risky... but maybe this would be a good time to… If he's going to help Ben back down...

"Want to see something cool?"

"Always!" Ben repeats, grinning as he sits on the bed, leaning back on his elbows. He grins up at Armie, his long legs stretched out.

" Which might be why I like to look at you." He says softly, his own cheeks feeling warm.

Armitage snorts, though his cheeks are similarly heated...

He opens his cupboard. One of his most prized possessions… Something a tutor got for him, to help him practice. It's a cube-shaped puzzle with multiple pieces that can be taken apart and then fitted back together in different ways...

He outstretches his fingers, carefully, drawing it out and levitating it. His fingertips being to make various movements, influencing the pieces and reconfiguring the cube...

Ben makes a sound of awe, sitting up.

"Armie...!" It's incredible, his eyes are wide, lips parted as he watches it lift from those beautiful hands.

"It's all about..." Armitage's voice is hesitant as he concentrates. "Feeling the different dimensions..."

He fits it back together... before lifting it to Ben's lap.

Ben lifts his hands, catching it lightly.  He looks up at Armitage with a crooked grin.

"Does it work... On people, too?"

Armitage lifts a brow, confused... until his cheeks redden, more intensely than before.

"Sometimes..." He admits. Sometimes he can feel... heartbeats and senses... that aren't his own.

Ben’s expression grows mischievous. 

"So... How many different dimensions do I have, then?" He sits forward, turning the  puzzle over and over in his hands. Armitage's cheeks remain scarlet... he answers factually, but he doesn't think that's... maybe what Ben means.

"First there's... your physical self." He whispers. "Your body... and what's inside." He swallows, avoiding his eyes, his cheeks the colours of cherries. "And then there's... your aura... your mind..." his hands fiddle at his front. "Your heart..."

Armitage feels his love. Waves of it... where others feel empty.

Ben turns the puzzle, glancing down - Armitage's blush is beautiful. But the way he avoids his eyes... Maybe he's... Being too forward.... Ben licks his lower lip.

"Yeah?"  He's seen too much of the end of lives to know if he waits, he might never get another chance.

"Can you... Hear thoughts? Feel... What I'm feeling?" His voice is soft.

Armitage finally lifts his eyes, to meet his.

"I feel it." He confirms. "The reflection of what you feel..." He swallows hard, his fingertips still fidgeting. Now Ben's cheeks color. He doesn't look away, however. So... Armitage knows? He can feel... His love? He wonders what it must feel like. Is it warm? Is it pleasant? Is.... Does Armitage...  Like it? Does he want his love?

"Thoughts are harder." Armitage confesses. "Some people have loud thoughts... but other thoughts are quieter." His lips curve. A soft expression.

"Am I loud? Or quiet?" He whispers.

Armitage's smile broadens. A blossoming flower.

"Sometimes..." He steps closer. 

Ben's heart begins to race as he steps closer.

"You are loud..." He takes Ben’s hands.  

He swallows hard, looking up at Armitage’s face. He licks his lower lip nervously.

"D-do you know... What I'm thinking now?"

Armitage caresses his hands.

"Only if I want to." He murmurs. He lifts Ben's hands to his lips.

Ben shivers with delight. Gods, he's so wondrous. So amazing! He's never... He's never seen anyone so incredible!

"Armitage, you are a beautiful gift." He breathes.

Armitage blinks up at him. He settles next to Ben, seeking his warmth. For Ben to think this of him... it...

"I'm..." He's less than nothing. He rests his cheek at Ben's shoulder.  "I..." he's speechless. He doesn't know how to answer something so lovely.

"Thank you." It seems woefully inadequate.He closes his eyes... savouring him. He's here!! Here with Armitage…

Ben leans against him, delighted by his warmth. His presence.

"Thank _you_." He whispers, turning his head to brace their foreheads together. Armitage's breath hitches in his chest.

Armitage didn't have to have seen him. He didn't have to have said anything, helped him out of that soldier's mind - Ben could have died that day, a little scared boy... He didn't have to seek him out, after the fight. Didn't have to keep coming back. Armitage is so generous. And kind. So lovely...

"Armie..." He whispers, looking down at those lovely thick lips. "I..." love you....

"Ben..."

_I..._

He feels it, already. It's so dangerous… 

_Love you._

He hears it, and his heart stutters.

"Ben..." this is... this too dangerous… Armitage's hand comes over Ben's throbbing heart... feeling the beats. Ben rubs his nose against the tip of Armie's, savoring the feeling of his delicate palm at his own broad chest. His heart beats so fast.

"It's yours." He whispers. "All of my dimensions... They're yours." He says gently.

Armitage stares up at him. His own heart flutters...

"As mine are yours." Armitage answers.

He closes his eyes once more. They share breath. His lips near Ben's…Ben blinks at him, a slow smile spreading across his lips. Ben's fingers reach to the side of his face. Tender. Worshiping… 

Armitage waits for the touch of Ben’s lips on his own, his fingertips tensing on his knee, he's in a terrible and terrific anticipation...

There's chatter outside the window. Patrol guards. The switching of the shift.

Ben swallows hard, Armie's lips are so close! And yet… He swears softly under his breath, gently knocking his forehead with Armie's. Gods how he wants to kiss him...

"I have to go..." he says mournfully. Armitage opens his eyes. He feels like he's sinking. It's too cruel...

Until he's faster… "I only have a small window to make it back undetected..." he stands at it rends at his heart… Armitage stands with him. He can't let Ben plummet.

"Ben..."Armitage looks worriedly to the balcony. Love turns to fear and anguish. How is he going to get down safely?!

"I'm sorry!" Ben doesn't want to go... Not in the slightest. He wishes he could stay all night... Forever with him. His expression is apologetic as he moves towards the balcony, hesitant, looking around.

"I'll help you..." He can do it. He outstretches his hands to practice. He can lift Ben…

Ben looks at him for a moment and then nods.

"Maybe just... Help hold me against the wall?" Between the two of them... It will be easier. Safer. He once thought he had no fear for his own life. He never used to… Not until the day Armie had come back into his life and he realised he didn't want to leave him behind.

Armitage nods.

"I will!" He promises. His own expression mirrors Ben's: another apology. He nears him as they come to the balcony.

"Please... be safe." Armitage whispers.

"When am I not?" He leans in close, a quick embrace, the lightest of all touches - his lips skim across that silken red hair. He hugs Ben tightly... pressed close to him, his heart... but it is over far too soon.

"I'll come back to you soon!" he promises, carefully climbing over the edge of the balcony as close to the wall as he can so he can start his descent.

"Just be safe..." Armitage pleads.

He helps Ben as best he can, to the ground, tensed for his entire way... he holds his breath, until Ben is landed.

He draws away from the balcony, bundling himself under his covers, once more. He doesn't sleep for the rest of the night. He's listening for guards... too worried about Ben.


End file.
